As we prepared to leave for the trip, we reflected over a TED called called "The Danger of a Single Story", Chimamanda Adichie shares this:
"I've always felt that it is impossible to engage properly with a place or a person without
engaging with all of the stories of that place and that person. The consequence of the single story is this: it robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than similar."
I've always thought of Africa as this mysterious place, in need of saving. People have "hearts for Africa" or feel "called" to travel there in efforts to mend the brokenness. There are "Save Africa" campaigns and many products with pictures of the continent to raise funds for HIV relief or orphans. This is the single story of Africa we are told. The truth is that there is so much more than the story we are telling.
This is only a glimpse of my own story of the experiences I had in Tanzania and Rwanda, two countries in East Africa. But I want you to realize and reflect on the fact that there are so many more stories than my words or anyone else's can ever say.
This is only a glimpse of my own story of the experiences I had in Tanzania and Rwanda, two countries in East Africa. But I want you to realize and reflect on the fact that there are so many more stories than my words or anyone else's can ever say.
Acidchie goes on to add this:
"Of course, Africa is a continent full of catastrophes. There are immense ones, such as the
horrific rapes in Congo. And depressing ones, such as the fact that 5,000 people apply for
one job vacancy in Nigeria. But there are other stories that are not about catastrophe. And it
is very important, it is just as important, to talk about them."
This story is more than loss, poverty and destruction. Yes, I witnessed some of this. But this is also a story of the love, confusion, faith, frustration, beauty and compassion. And it begins in a dusty white 14 passenger van.
Looking back at pictures and journals from those two weeks, I want to be back there. Besides the sheer beauty of these countries, there was a feeling of peace that felt purifying, joy that inspired me and fear that challenged me. It has been an experience that continues in me today - meaning that I still don't even know what it all meant or how it is continuing to change me.
I didn't quite understand everything this trip brought and I still don't. However, I think that my silence
would only further the single story that we all know so well. I know a different story and it matters, even if it confused me and challenged me, it matters.
I really think the theme of this trip was one of opening my eyes to the presence of God in the world. That God is not only within me, but in my neighbor, in the ocean, in the jungle, in laughter, in chaos, in the people of Tanzania and in my friends and family, all in the exact same capacity.
"We as human beings have value just because we were created. And nothing we do can give us more value. Even if we lift certain things up like travel or money, I don't think it adds value to us. But the fact that we were conceived in God's heart. That does."
During some of the recent horrific events happening around the world, I've been reflecting back to my time in Rwanda, where we visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial. I happened to be wearing a t-shirt that day which read "Namaste". Namaste is a Hindu greeting, translated to mean the divine or light in me honors the divinity or light in you. When unspeakable tragedies happen, like the terrorist attacks of Paris and Beirut, violent shootings in San Bernardino or Colorado, the debate of Syrian refugees, the murder of young American black men or the Rwandan genocide, there is no light in this. These tragedies continue to happen - because we are failing see the light in each other. When we fail to see God in everything around us, to see the light that is deeply embedded in our souls, we fail to see that we are all worthy of justice and of love. Maybe if we all lived out a little more "Namaste", there would be a little more peace.
This trip reawakened this belief of mine, that God's light is in everything, if we only open our eyes. I remembered that all of this world was conceived in His heart. God was revealed to me in ways that I never thought I would see Him, in dirt roads and ruin and dust. A vibrant reminder to continue to see the divine in the darkest of places, even in myself, in order to make this world a smaller place. To remove the borders our minds create between places and between people, to see the oceans shorten and the distance of the world disperse.
On one of our first days in Tanzania, I met Kemi. Kemi is a seamstress in the community who has founded the non-profit organization KVDPA, Karagwe Vocational Training Development and Poverty Alleviation. She not only makes fabric clothes for schools, orphanages, and people in need but provides vocational training, bringing and empowering women of the community to work together. Although Kemi didn't speak very much English, she was the type of person who radiated love from her eyes and her smile. And by the work she was doing in her own community, I could see just how much love she had inside of her heart for others.
I was able to see glimpses of God in Tanzania. Kemi's smile was one of those glimpses. In Tanzania, Kemi's name is pronounced in the same way as my own name, and as we were leaving one day, she pulled me close to her and smiled, and asked to take a photo. The two Kemi's. I realized that her and I were not much different. Oceans and miles separate our homes, but our hearts are in the same place: a desire to alleviate the pain of others. It was encouraging to see such a vibrant heart, in a place that has always been associated with darkness.
It is funny how something as simple as a name can make you realize the connection we have to others. This young girl's name is also Kemi, and I met her as we visited an elementary school deep in rural Karagwe. We were greeted here with songs and dances in Swahili circling around us as we introduced ourselves. I stepped forward and introduced myself, and Kemi came into the center of the circle. She was so small and shy. I looked into her eyes and I didn't see poverty, hurt or loss. I just saw a young girl who reminded me of a young version of myself, with hope of a bright future, if only the world would just look at her that same way.
Just a few days later, we were brought into a home for HIV Aids patients. It was a small, one room shack, in the middle of nowhere, across from a beautiful body of water. Their stories broke my heart, each one a little bit more. This was real, unromanticized poverty. The strength they displayed as their words were translated to us spoke to me. We all sat huddled on the floor of their one room home and listened to their pain. It was confusing but so real. I decided to give a bracelet to one of the women who shared her story. I asked Matthew, our guide, to give this to her and translate to her that I wanted her to have this, that she inspired me. He did this for me, and told me that her reply was of thanks, but what would she do with this, as she needed money and food to survive.
The people in this home could not get the medical attention they needed, not even the bare necessities to survive. The nurse has to travel long distances by foot to get their medications, which they could often not afford. Maybe I saw parts of myself in that hopelessness. While I could never feel anything close to what these survivors feel everyday, I related to the struggle of health, the unable to control any of it, the unpredictability of it all. But I am lucky enough to have the privilege to overcome these obstacles everyday, and the people I met that day probably will never have that chance. How can there be any hope in that?
I started to reflect on this rural community we had been traveling through. I thought about the members of my group, the different privileges we may have. We have the privilege of being educated, of traveling. I thought about Zanzibar, a popular tourist destination off the coast of Tanzania, with abundant privilege, just across the country. Somewhere along the road, privilege and poverty became quiet neighbors but the world keeps moving on, some people without even realizing it. And these neighbors more alike than different, although some would contest any sense of shared humanity.
It's brokenness. There is brokenness in every corner of our world. We don't need to travel to poverty stricken locations, visit the homeless, or the disabled and lonely to see it. It's there in Africa, in our own communities and our own hearts. Sometimes the incredible amount of brokenness that enflames our world can leave me feeling debilitatingly helpless.
During some of our daily Swahili lessons, we learned a phrase called "Harambee", which means a way of coming together as a community, to pull together. I think we need the idea of Harambee to be cultivated more often members of our larger world community. I believe we can all work together to help our world mend its brokenness, piece by piece. I think when the space between "us" and "them" becomes infinitely smaller, we are one step closer. One step closer toward justice, toward understanding each other and the issues that plague our societies, to be able to heal together. I've learned that I need to step outside myself, to recognize my own privilege, my own brokenness, to continue to see the light of God around me and think about how I can use these things, use myself and this life I have been given to help the healing.
During one of our final reflections, our group read a quote by Robert McAfee Brown
"One can affirm God with all the right words, have an impeccable theology and put money in the collection plate and yet, if one is not 'doing justice', the words are hollow, the faith is spurious, the gestures are meaningless and the religious stance being displayed is really Atheism. To know God is to do justice. No separation of the two is possible"
So I leave you with this question - How are you doing justice?
I didn't quite understand everything this trip brought and I still don't. However, I think that my silencewould only further the single story that we all know so well. I know a different story and it matters, even if it confused me and challenged me, it matters.
I really think the theme of this trip was one of opening my eyes to the presence of God in the world. That God is not only within me, but in my neighbor, in the ocean, in the jungle, in laughter, in chaos, in the people of Tanzania and in my friends and family, all in the exact same capacity.
One of my fellow Tanz Squad members, Michael said something during the trip that I think really speaks to this,
"We as human beings have value just because we were created. And nothing we do can give us more value. Even if we lift certain things up like travel or money, I don't think it adds value to us. But the fact that we were conceived in God's heart. That does."
During some of the recent horrific events happening around the world, I've been reflecting back to my time in Rwanda, where we visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial. I happened to be wearing a t-shirt that day which read "Namaste". Namaste is a Hindu greeting, translated to mean the divine or light in me honors the divinity or light in you. When unspeakable tragedies happen, like the terrorist attacks of Paris and Beirut, violent shootings in San Bernardino or Colorado, the debate of Syrian refugees, the murder of young American black men or the Rwandan genocide, there is no light in this. These tragedies continue to happen - because we are failing see the light in each other. When we fail to see God in everything around us, to see the light that is deeply embedded in our souls, we fail to see that we are all worthy of justice and of love. Maybe if we all lived out a little more "Namaste", there would be a little more peace.
This trip reawakened this belief of mine, that God's light is in everything, if we only open our eyes. I remembered that all of this world was conceived in His heart. God was revealed to me in ways that I never thought I would see Him, in dirt roads and ruin and dust. A vibrant reminder to continue to see the divine in the darkest of places, even in myself, in order to make this world a smaller place. To remove the borders our minds create between places and between people, to see the oceans shorten and the distance of the world disperse.
On one of our first days in Tanzania, I met Kemi. Kemi is a seamstress in the community who has founded the non-profit organization KVDPA, Karagwe Vocational Training Development and Poverty Alleviation. She not only makes fabric clothes for schools, orphanages, and people in need but provides vocational training, bringing and empowering women of the community to work together. Although Kemi didn't speak very much English, she was the type of person who radiated love from her eyes and her smile. And by the work she was doing in her own community, I could see just how much love she had inside of her heart for others.I was able to see glimpses of God in Tanzania. Kemi's smile was one of those glimpses. In Tanzania, Kemi's name is pronounced in the same way as my own name, and as we were leaving one day, she pulled me close to her and smiled, and asked to take a photo. The two Kemi's. I realized that her and I were not much different. Oceans and miles separate our homes, but our hearts are in the same place: a desire to alleviate the pain of others. It was encouraging to see such a vibrant heart, in a place that has always been associated with darkness.
The people in this home could not get the medical attention they needed, not even the bare necessities to survive. The nurse has to travel long distances by foot to get their medications, which they could often not afford. Maybe I saw parts of myself in that hopelessness. While I could never feel anything close to what these survivors feel everyday, I related to the struggle of health, the unable to control any of it, the unpredictability of it all. But I am lucky enough to have the privilege to overcome these obstacles everyday, and the people I met that day probably will never have that chance. How can there be any hope in that?
It's brokenness. There is brokenness in every corner of our world. We don't need to travel to poverty stricken locations, visit the homeless, or the disabled and lonely to see it. It's there in Africa, in our own communities and our own hearts. Sometimes the incredible amount of brokenness that enflames our world can leave me feeling debilitatingly helpless.
During some of our daily Swahili lessons, we learned a phrase called "Harambee", which means a way of coming together as a community, to pull together. I think we need the idea of Harambee to be cultivated more often members of our larger world community. I believe we can all work together to help our world mend its brokenness, piece by piece. I think when the space between "us" and "them" becomes infinitely smaller, we are one step closer. One step closer toward justice, toward understanding each other and the issues that plague our societies, to be able to heal together. I've learned that I need to step outside myself, to recognize my own privilege, my own brokenness, to continue to see the light of God around me and think about how I can use these things, use myself and this life I have been given to help the healing.
During one of our final reflections, our group read a quote by Robert McAfee Brown
"One can affirm God with all the right words, have an impeccable theology and put money in the collection plate and yet, if one is not 'doing justice', the words are hollow, the faith is spurious, the gestures are meaningless and the religious stance being displayed is really Atheism. To know God is to do justice. No separation of the two is possible"
So I leave you with this question - How are you doing justice?
