A Few Good Men

Hang on ladies…. In a future post I promise I will talk about the women too. But this blog is devoted to the African men here at KIST.

The road trip

I recently had the opportunity to take an interesting road trip: me and 11 men (fortunately Rod was one of them) in a van to Nairobi -- 8 hours each way. The KIST faculty went to a three-day conference for theological schools. There are women on the KIST staff as well, but it just so happened that I was the only one who could attend this conference.

Jeremiah -- my language coach

I have never traveled with a van full of men before. After doing so I would like to dispel one prominent myth:  women do NOT talk more than men! You should have heard the chitter-chatter all the way there and all the way back!  And… all in Swahili. I took advantage of the situation to practice my very bare-bones Swahili. Jeremiah, our vice-principal at KIST,  was my main teacher. Since I was the only woman, I got to sit in the front while Jeremiah drove, so I practiced Swahili with him. I needed the Swahili practice to distract me from his terrifying driving. The phrase I learned most well that day was: Ninaomba (I am praying). I learned it well because I said it over and over again as he drove. He just laughed, and we made it home fine. Bwana asifiwe! (Bwah-nah ah-see-fee-way: Praise the Lord!)

During the conference in Nairobi something special happened for me: I was able to “see” the hearts and desires of these men, and I was touched. The odds are stacked against development and growth in Africa. And yet these men have hearts for the Lord, and committed themselves to growth at the end of the conference.  A veteran professor said “I realize now that we have not been making sure our courses reflect our vision and mission statements.” A younger man said, “I need to make sure that my life reflects my teaching; I need to be a model.”  These are good hearts. As I sat in the van with 11 men, I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between that group, and a similar group that changed the world 2,000 years ago. To what extent could a few good men here at KIST change Africa? I have lots of faith. Bwana asifiwe!

The KIST kwaya (choir). There really are lots of men in the back.

Another group of men that has gotten my attention is those in my choir! In the last few weeks I have become the KIST choir director – something I LOVE! My first move was to take away all the extra chairs in the choir section during practice, so that only those who had actually practiced could sit in (and sing with) the choir during the service. Evidently this was a revolutionary idea, and I quickly became known for bringing discipline to the choir. But back to the men… it was the tenors and basses who showed up most punctually and learned their parts best. In my choirs in Brazil and Indonesia this was never the case, so I am thrilled! (More on possible cultural reasons why the women are less engaged in a future blog.) At the chapel to celebrate communion we were able to sing “Let us Break Bread Together on our Knees” with all the parts, and even with dynamics. It was special. Bwana asifiwe!

Daniel recording sermons in Swahili

For the past three days we hosted a special guest in our home: Dr. Daniel Mdobi, who prefers the title “Pastor”.  He taught for many years at KIST, and now has returned to his native Tanzania, where he teaches and pastors. When we visited his church in Tanzania, Rod invited him to come and record some Swahili sermons in the CBH studio here at KIST. This visit just took place, and we are richer for having spent more time with this good man. Bwana asifiwe!

Rwandan attic cleaners!

As I write this blog, there are two more good men up in my attic, making a ruckus. Okay, this requires some explanation. These are two students from Rwanda who don’t have the money to travel back home after the term ends this coming week. So, we are providing a job for them: cleaning out the dirt, bird droppings, and  dust in our attic. I have had lots of allergies since coming here, and we think cleaning our attic might help. So now these men will be able to go home. The man in the glasses, Theodoli, has asked me to teach him to read music. Actually, many of the students want this, so that will be a fun class to teach next year! Bwana asifiwe!

As I conclude this blog I have a confession to make. God actually laid this topic on my heart a week ago, but I resisted writing it. You see, these good men also happen to be fallible men, and I got a little irritated with a few of them. For awhile there I lost sight of the “good” amidst the “imperfect”.  Has that ever happened to you? Fortunately God was patient with me even as I was impatient with others, and he reminded me of a couple of things. First, Africa is harsh and hard and unrelenting. It is not easy to persevere in receiving God’s light and passing it on to others amidst superstition, fear, malaria, drought, poverty, corruption, inadequate education, and a host of other conspiracies against God’s goodness and light. And the second will come as no surprise, especially to my husband: I too am imperfect. Please continue to pray for us all, as we seek to build on the GOOD at KIST, even through our imperfections. Bwana asifiwe!

Challenge: Surprise someone today by greeting them with Bwana asifiwe! Who knows what interesting discussion may ensue!.
 

Light and Darkness

Light and darkness. I’ve been thinking a lot about that the past few days. I have been privileged to grow up in light. I was raised in a family where God’s light shone brightly. I was born in a country founded on the light of Scripture. My education has given me ample resources to know how the world God created functions, and to think critically and logically (usually) about the issues I face. I am blessed – oh so blessed. Recent events here have drawn a sharp contrast between the light that I have known, and the dark side of Africa. It started 12 days ago…

Grace* is my house helper. She is a God-fearing woman who has been through more trauma in her 40-something years than I will probably ever see. She has had five children by a couple of different men, and is not married. Lest that strike you as promiscuous, consider local tribal traditions. Having children IS womanhood. Not having children is a curse, not only to the woman, but also in the family and village. And of course male children are required.These perspectives (and many other superstitions) lead to a multitude of problems: polygamy, AIDS, family in-fighting and feuds, and even incest and rape (terms not always used here when we in the West would find them applicable). Ways of describing events and relationships are much less defined, hindering our ability to really understand what has happened. When locals say “married” and “divorced” they may not be referring to actual legal status. This is the background for understanding Grace’s story. Despite her history, when I first met Grace I was struck by the radiance of her face. I soon came to discover that her joy was rooted in Christ.

Then, 12 days ago, the unthinkable happened. Her 15-year-old son, her oldest child, died suddenly of cerebral malaria. He was fine on Saturday morning, and by Sunday night at 9:00 he was dead. She had taken him to the hospital on Saturday night. He seemed to be improving Sunday morning. But then he took a turn for the worse, and passed away. He had just begun high school – an accomplishment and privilege here. Grace had so proudly told me about him just weeks earlier.

The funeral was ten days later. Rod and I and some others from the school attended. It was held outside, down a rough foot path, under a canvas tarp. The casket was open in a small lean-to on the way to the gathering. 

The choir. Notice that white is worn at funerals.

A choir sang at the funeral, then family members spoke. Grace began, speaking for an hour about her son and the events leading to his death. It was all in Swahili, and despite my recent three-week course, I couldn’t understand much of it. However, one of our workers was sitting beside me and translated a bit for me.

Grace speaking

After Grace and her mother spoke, the events of the funeral took a turn that I can only describe as an invasion of darkness, even though the sun was still shining. For the next hour and a half, various family members on the paternal side – the side of the father who had not raised the boy – attacked Grace and her family for allowing him to die. They even spoke of possible legal action. The paternal grandmother, who had just moments earlier been singing “alleluia” along with the choir, attacked the most viciously – even her family members made a show of trying to stop her tirade. I didn’t need to understand Swahili to interpret the total absence of compassion in this matriarch’s words. 

Later it got worse. At the burial, Grace wanted to stay until the burial was complete. Her parents, however, told her to leave when the casket was only half covered with dirt. There is apparently some superstition that staying to the end will cause others to die – or something like that which I’m sure I have not even begun to grasp. Grace refused. She wanted to stay to the end. And then, unthinkably, her own parents denounced her for disobeying them. They told her not to step foot in their house again.

After the burial was complete, Grace went to her church and spent the night there, alone. Of course friends tried to reach out to her, but she said, “I only have my God.” I think I would have felt the same. 

Today, Grace showed up on my doorstep. I was thrilled today to see her! Her parents, who are caring for the children, have relented a bit. She says she is still weak, but is planning on coming to work on Monday. Please pray that our home can be LIGHT for Grace.

The day of the funeral I had also been reading my seminary students’ essays -- the assignment was to write about a "moral issue". I wasn't prepared for what I would receive: unnervingly honest papers about polygamy, HIV, incest, corruption, and circumcision rituals -- including female circumcision for the purpose of "preventing prostitution". My students are educating me about the superstitions and traditions fueling these devastating practices. For the most part, our students know which traditional practices are destructive, and want to stand up against them. But they are often caught between two worlds – the light of biblical principles which they want so much to fully embrace – and family/village pressures and superstitions which they cannot easily turn their backs on. Kenya is supposedly 80% Christian. But how many of these “Christians” are like the matriarch at the funeral? The Bible says, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” What is the Christian population according to THIS standard? 

I guess we could ask the same question in our own congregations, couldn’t we?  Proclaim the Light. The Darkness is oh, so very dark.

*Not her real name.

End of language school

We have finished the official part of our language study here in Tanzania, and we have certificates to prove that we now know beginning Swahili. I’m not sure what that means when we still can’t have any sort of conversation with anyone. But I can tell you the meanings of all the parts of this word: Ninakupenda. Are you ready?

Ni = I; na = present verb tense; ku = you object; penda = like or love.  

Got it? That’s one word for “I love you”.  All of their subjects and verbs are like this, with the various components strung together into one word. So, their long words require grammar study – you can’t just memorize words. But there was one word that we loved: shagalabagala. Say that three times really fast! It means messy. Somehow this DOES seem like an appropriate thing to say when you walk into your teenager’s room, doesn’t it?

In our final days of language study we had an interesting assignment: we were given 1,000 Tanzanian shillings (about 70 cents) and were taken to the local market to see how much we could buy with it. Bartering was expected, as part of the culture. Now, I’m very good at bartering, having honed my skill in Bali. But there’s a problem when you’re bartering in numbers that you barely know – they all start sounding alike. So at one point, I actually bartered UP. No wonder the guy took my offer so quickly! Needless to say, by the end of our morning at the market  I was mentally and emotionally spent, as well as thirsty, dirty and hot. But I did come home with: 4 pilipili hoho, 3 nyanya, 5 karoti, and 3 matango.  Anyone want to guess what these things are? Post your response!

Traditional "choo"

During our visit to a local church I experienced my first rustic African bathroom. A picture says it all.

After leaving language school it was great to spend a few days with our co-workers in Tanzania. A highlight was getting to see Aldersgate school, a Church of God Pre-K-12 partial boarding school with around 870 students. Rod was invited to speak to this group on Sunday morning, and used a soccer ball, to explain that God’s rules help us to enjoy the game of life.

Really, he's not playing soccer in church.

Rod's sermon was a little over the heads
of the youngest boarders at the school!

Two little girls who came up to me after church

A girl singing and dancing in her choir,
wearing the school T-shirt.

We really enjoyed all the many student groups which performed songs, and we wanted to share one with you. It’s a rough video, but hopefully you can get a sense of the great African music.

On Monday we got to see the school in session. I've been invited back to do teacher training there!

Notice the sweaters in the 85 degree weather!

Ben and Kelly Shular have been wonderful hosts our past three days here in Babati, Tanzania. We have enjoyed some unique culinary treats like wildebeast roast for Sunday dinner and warthog for breakfast. Delicious! Since there's not much wild game wandering around where we live in Kenya I don't think Rod's going to shoot me a wildebeast any time soon, so it was nice to taste it here.

Tomorrow we fly back to Kenya. Please pray for us as we continue to try to learn Swahili, while we really begin the work that God has for us at KIST.

Jan

Language School in Tanzania

Dear Friends,
I have finally become a blogger! It seems to be the most efficient way to share news and pictures with you in this day and age.

We can hardly believe that we are 2/3 finished with our Swahili language school! We have one week left. I last wrote you that we were learning numbers. Now that we're quite proficient with numbers, our teacher expects us to use them in incredibly long statements of time. You know how we can say in English 11:35, short and sweet. No such luck in Swahili.You have to say: Ni saa kumi na moja kasoro dakika ishirini na tano. By the time you've said it, another minute has passed and you have to start all over. Our African teacher makes no apologies for these long statements. "We have time" she says. Truly, that says it all! There's never a rush in Africa! To top it off, Swahili time is actually six hours different from our time, because they start counting the hours of the day at 6:00, when the sun comes up. So 11:35 is actually 5:35, in Swahili time. I'm sure that won't lead to any confusion at ALL! :)


It has not been all work and no play here in Tanzania. The monkeys have provided comic relief in the afternoons, when our brains are exploding with new words.

And the flowering trees are gorgeous!

On Friday we got to see some traditional African dances, accompanied by some great drummers. In this picture, the ladies have pots of fire on their heads! I hate to think what would happen if I tried that!

Yesterday we got to go on a Safari to Arusha National Park! We saw giraffes, baboons, lots of zebra, warthogs, water buffalo, lots of flamingos, water bucks, colobus monkeys -- and all this within view of stunning Mt. Kilimanjaro. In much of the park you are not allowed to get out of your vehicle -- they don't want humans changing the ecosystem.

 

One of the wilder species -- with Mt. Kilimanjaro in the background.

Tomorrow we learn the future! Don't you like the sound of that? Stay tuned!

Jan