Vision

My time here got very full very quickly. I jumped in with both feet with language school, language tutoring, and working at the centre. Which was wonderful, but the last few weeks I have had a little bit more free time with the boys mostly on home visits. With the bit of extra time I have been reflecting, praying, and brainstorming about vision.

In coming here the idea was that I would be learning Arabic and largely using my artsy/craftsy/creativity skills to do...something. I have done some reading on art therapy, I studied art in college, and I am constantly in my own life working on any number of art and craft projects at a time. There is a niche for that here. People make stuff, sure. You can find art if you really look for it. But if you walk around the city there is a lack of art, a lack of handicrafts, and (I don't mean this in a mean way) but a general kind of lack of creative thinking. If you know a bit of my journey in getting to Africa you will know that this isn't exactly the place that I had in mind that I would be. It's what came up and I went along with it and it seems to be working out better than anything I could have come up with on my own. I was talking with a friend here about how I have all these ideas and things that I could do with the boys and such but that I'm honestly feeling a little unsure about my abilities. She was super encouraging and is the one who pointed out that what I love--painting/drawing/crafting/recycling/reusing/creating is what there is a need for here. There's that quote by Frederick Buechner, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Yes indeedy, it is.

So I have a lot of ideas. Art therapy with the boys. (This is where I will be starting out..and I have  slew of other ideas for this!). Using the plastic bags, bottles, and trash littering the streets as raw materials for...something. (I have been experiementing with ironing and fusing the plastic bags to make plastic fabric, crocheting them, weaving them...) Way, way down the road maybe even evolving into an income generating project for some of the graduated boys or for some of the mothers of our boys who live in poverty and prostitution. Teaching the boys to paint and draw... I have visions for sure. The truth of the matter is that in order to be successful in any which way I need, NEED good Arabic to do it. So that is what I am focusing on now and will work on formulating the other stuff as well as I go along.

I am excited and kind of overwhelmed. I doubt my own courage and abilities--but not in the hand that led me here. I have already seen improvment in one of the boys. OJ, who I have talked about before, is 6 or so, super cute, the son of a lady who sells herself and drinks constantly. We think he has some developmental struggles for sure. When I first got here J told me that he would never draw for her. He wouldn't color or try and if he did it would be on the table or something. She said she would plead with him to no avail. The last few months as I was doing art activities with the boys I slowwwly got OJ to draw or color. It started with me asking where his picture was and him giving me someone elses. Then I would playfully give him a crayon and some paper. I would start a little drawing and he would take it and play with the paper. The first time I got him to color anything was when we made paper airplanes one day. He loooved the airplanes. He played with my example one until I took it, made him a blank one and had him color it just a little bit so he could play with it. The day we drew faces I drew him a circle and he colored it in. That worked so well that I continued to have him color or draw on paper with something else already on it. Days that we would paint he would paint more himself than anything else, but that's something. By the last week he, without any prompting from me, drew his first picture--or at least that I know of. It was him and a tree. My heart swelled. Now, I'm not saying it was anything I did. I wasn't even planning or plotting to get him to participate, thats just the stuff I did and that's what happened. I'm not taking  credit for it. But, for whatever reason, I saw a boys attention span with a pencil or crayon in hand go from about two seconds to like seven minutes.

I really believe that using art can help heal the deep wounds inside of these traumatized kids. I can't wait to see where this goes...

A Day for Firsts.

My first day at the drop-in centre, first serious habuub (dust storm), and my first thunderstorm here in Sudan. A glorious day indeed!
The drop-in centre today was...well, I can't sum it up in a word or two. So I will go into a lengthy explanation as usual. It has been operating for the last 8 weeks or so. I was busy working with the boys who were already in the centre's with their summer program. And the director wanting things to settle down a bit before I went. I'm new, and we're dealing with drunk boys and sometimes men and it wasn't a good idea for me to be there at first. So today I finally was able to go!

Today probably 25 boys were there and a handful of girls. Two of the girls were 13ish and brought their babies. One of the babies was plump, happy, and so cute. The other one was also cute and happy enough, but super skinny and barely walking at 18 months. Breaks my heart to see kids born into the street life. Esspecially to girls who are still very much kids themselves.

They all ranged in age from 10ish-25. Mostly preteen/early teenagers I would say. When they are let into the centre their glue soaked rags are taken and they are searched for any other glue or weapons or whatever. Most are drunk to some degree from the glue. One boy was so incapacitated he could barely walk. You can smell the glue on their breath and see the mental damage it has done to some of them. They get a bar of soap and can wash themselves and their clothes. There is some singing, a short program, and prayer followed by lunch. A nurse is there as well to have a look at the boys who wish to be looked at.

I and the other teachers sat and chatted with them for awhile. I played with the babies. Pitifully practiced my Arabic. Talked with the girls for awhile. One of them gave me her bracelet. I can't believe these young preteen girls are already mothers. Crazy to me. They could barely be bothered to breastfeed their boys and were happy to let them wander around without looking after them at all. I took a few pebbles out of little mouths today.

A lot of the boys loved the babies and happily picked them up and played with them. There was one street guy--Dictoora. Probably in his early 20's and the oldest guy there today. He was drunk and spent a large chunk of time today singing joyfully and drumming on a metal table with bottles. I watched him pick up one of the babies and wipe the dirt off his mouth, give him some water, and held him so lovingly and gently. A number of the other boys had a very sweet way about them with the little ones.

The boys that we have in the centre's now have all been there for some length of time. Most for at least a year, and many for a couple of years. They all came from this same place. Life on the streets, hungry, clothed in rags, addicted to glue. They are an incredible lot and have come so far. I can see our boys in the kids I hung out with today. Today I looked around and saw potential for so much more! Not lost causes and not doomed to be in the grips of this street life forever. What in life took them to this place? Do they know how much they're worth? That God created and formed them? That he loves them just as they are? That there's hope?  Do they know there's more?

In the coming weeks the staff will select new boys to move into the centre's. I'm so excited to see them off the streets and in school and in a loving and safe environment. I know it won't be easy, but they are why I came to here. Their lives have worth and value and I can see the Almighty in each and every one of them.

On the way home, I noticed that the sky was red/yellow and opaque in the distance. As soon as I got on my connecting bus...the habuub hit. Dust everywhere, serious wind, red air. Couldn't see more than a few yards ahead of you. The bus kept on and driving over the bridge you could barely see the Nile beneath. It was so cool. Then, eating dinner on the balcony I saw lightning. Lightning! I love, loveeeee big thunderstorms. Now there are big drops falling from the sky and strong winds blowing. It is my first rain here and it is so awesome. Rainstorm in the desert! My heart is so full!

New Digs

About 2 weeks ago I moved out of where I was staying--a family on my team, and in a flat with J. She is a South African gal in her 30's and we are having a lovely time so far. We have the same personality type (ENFJ, for those of you who are interested), and have already planned all sorts of summer fun. Starting with a little bbq tomorrow for some friends from language school and a new family who just got here.

I am living in a new area of town now, one that is not the most easily/directly accessible by bus, but a nice area nonetheless. Well, we are probably the only foreigners who live in the area, and we're pretty sure that there may be some dodginess (in the form of small brothels) the next street over. But there are 2 good duucans (little corner shops) a hop, skip, and jump away where you can get basic items--matches, eggs, flour, toothbrushes, etc. Just a few minutes walk away are a line of fruit and veg guys with decent selections. About a 10 minute walk away are 2 suuq's (markets) with clothes, kitchen stuff, hardware, toys, and the like. Kind of an everything you could want, but not the one thing you need type of situation. It's a quieter market than other ones I've been to, which is nice. There are really cute kids that play games on the street. The neighbors seem really nice.

The flat is nice. We are the 2nd floor of a small 4 story building. 3 bedrooms, a nice sized living room, 4 small balconies. From whichever balcony you are on you can see at least 2 different mosques in any direction. And, yes, I have become accustomed to knowing what time it is when I hear the call to prayer 5x/day. I like to look out my window and out at the city sometimes, but I can totally see into the hoosh (courtyardish area) of the house below. I realize that sounds totally creepy and I don't mean to look, but...I dunno it's there and I do look sometimes. Mostly the ladies cooking or the dad sleeping or eating. I'm really not a creepy neighbor, I just end up looking from time to time. It just happens....Don't judge me.

There are quirks with our little flat though, as with most everything here. Currently my room and the kitchen have no power. Not exactly sure, but it seems something shorted and these 2 rooms (though on opposite sides of the flat) are connected somehow with the wiring downstairs. The plug for the washing machine is very sensitive and you have to plug it in just so, then you can't touch the washer while it's going or it will shock you. The downstairs gate takes me a bit to get into. I have to press it in and pull the lock while wiggling it. The downstairs door I still can't unlock. The lock is all wonky and I haven't gotten the hang of unlocking it yet. The bottom part of the gas oven is also tempramental. I haven't been able to get it to light on my own yet. One of the 2 toilets leaks everywhere when it flushes so we just use the other bathroom. Also, we have a rat that we are trying everything we can think of to catch and kill. Even considered napping one of the street cats to borrow for a few days until it got the rat. But...then decided that the street cat probably had as many diseases as the rat does.

So the ratscapades will continue until we are successful. In any case, I am happy to have a place to call mine for now and I am looking forward to the continuing adventures that are my everyday life here!

Lost and Found

Today going to school I got on the wrong bus. Not the first time, and not the last I am sure. The moment when it dawns on me that I am not where I intended nor want to be, immediately the wheels start turning and I start trying to figure out where the bus I'm on and the place I want to be intersect somehow.

It wasn't a difficult fix today. I got off where I knew I was about a 15 minute walk away from school. Which, a 15 minute walk in triple digit temps isn't my ideal, it is pretty fine and dandy when another possible alternative could have been being totally lost or taken totally out of the way.

Here's the thing. The only reason I knew that I knew how to get from where I was to the school was because a few weeks ago a friend and I were walking somewhere and got a little turned around and ended up along that route. That's the only way that I knew that the two points connected. This stuff happens all the time.

Even when I'm just trying to figure out a new bus route or trying to get to a new place, I will end up using something I learned the day or week before or another time when I got lost. Seriously I see God providentially providing all the time for me getting my sense of bearing. Times when I've gotten lost or taken the wrong way have ended up being hugely beneficial at other times. There have been times that I have taken notice of different buildings or signs or whatever that were meaningless before, that have turned out to be very helpful landmarks the next day. Most every difficulty along the way so far has ended up being in one way or another very helpful at a later time. Like one day I ended up walking pretty out of the way to get on a bus. The place that I was ended up being the place that I needed to get off the bus a few days later and wouldn't have recognized if I hadn't made the other mistake before. Or I end up being stuck and waiting and waiting for a bus for awhile. In those times I see and learn the different buses that travel along those roads...and it is usually a day or two before that information becomes really importaint. That stuff happens all the time, all the time. And I'm so thankful for it because otherwise, I assure you, I would probably be lost in the desert somewhere by now.

Roasty Toasty

Summer has commenced here and me-oh-my this heat is no joke. With temperatures topping out around 120 most days we have to refrigerate even our emergency candles so they don't melt. And it’s not the sort of heat that is counterbalanced by very cool nights. I mean, the nights are cooler, but they are still darn-tootin hot. When we checked the temperature the other night  around 5:30pm it was still 110 degrees.

True, it is a dry heat. For now. Humidity will come in a few weeks with some rain. Humid or not though, the heat is debilitating in a way I had not expected. By afternoon my energy is sapped. I kind of sluggishly get through, and it seems to be that way for everyone. Many Sudanese take a long sleep in the afternoon, so that they can be up to do their visiting and socializing after the sun has gone down. Smart folks.

The sweating never stops, and I drink more water than I ever have before. Copious amounts. This is weird too—because of all the sweating my body is losing lots of salt, right? The more salt your body needs the less you can taste it, which I didn’t know before. So I end up putting copious amounts of salt on my food, just so I can taste it. How cool is that, that your body has its own way of making sure it is getting the salt it needs?

One learns quickly to situate oneself in the shade. Not just because you could very well bake while standing in the sun, but also because most likely a kind hearted local will greet you and ask you why you are standing in the sun or will tell you to stand in the shade if you stop even briefly in the sun. You can also tell when getting on a bus that’s not completely full which side the sun is going to shine in on the most along the route. Always choose the side where there are more people—they know what they’re doing when it comes to avoiding sunlight.

What is it like riding on a bus or in a car during the day? The moving air feels nice, but the air is hot. I heard someone compare it to putting a blow dryer by your face, and I have to say that is a pretty fair comparison. Actually, it is pretty spot on.

I do say this all kind of tongue in cheek. The heat is crazy and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, but seriously from the bottom of my heart there is nowhere else I would rather be. I still can’t believe I get to live here and experience all of this and work with street boys and do stuff like explain to my neighbor what Easter is about because she had no idea. I get to wake up every day in Africa. It really seems too good to be true. You who are reading--it is your shoulders I stand on and you who make it possible. Thank you, thank you.

Mixed Bag

Monday night after I wrote my last post I had dinner with some old friends and some new friends. All folks about my age--a British couple, Kenyan guy, Pakistani guy, and an American guy. We had a lot of fun. Of course the bin Laden situation came up and we got to talk about it. Really interesting to hear everyone's thoughts and opinions. We mostly didn't agree about everything, but we are united in faith and it was an incredibly respectful and casual discussion. Then when it was time to leave it was well after dark and therefore unsafe for me to take the bus, the Pakistani guy, true to his culture, insisted on not letting me ride the amjat home alone, then paid for me.

Then in my class today--with 2 other Americans, a Kenyan, German, and South Korean, led by our Sudanese teacher, we got to hear how the Sudanese are feeling about the bin Laden news. It very much seems to be a situation where they really don't like my country and their policies, but they don't have anything against any of us personally who are here. I'm not exactly going to go shouting from the rooftops where I'm from, but I really don't feel unsafe in any way. What an interesting and insightful couple of days.

Oh, and I totally (ever so slowly) read an Arabic newspaper headline today.

Probably the only political thing I will ever write.

I stay out of politics. I don't like them. I have opinions, but I prefer to keep my ideas to myself about these things generally. I like to avoid debate and contention. But I have some serious thoughts about the murder of bin Laden, especially since I am living now on his old stomping grounds. (The major road here, 5 minutes away from where I stay, was funded by bin Laden.) I share these thoughts with some trepidation. Please know I mean no disrespect to anyone. These are my humble opinions.

He was a bad guy of course. Has caused and financed irreparable damage to countless lives. But…I cannot rejoice in the death of another person. I am a Christian first, before I am an American. Christ would have never, never rejoiced, celebrated, or condoned a murder no matter what the circumstances were. Jesus never condoned violence. He never supported it. He always chose another way. When Peter cut off the ear of a soldier who was arresting Jesus, Christ scolded Peter and healed the man. There is a strong argument for taking up the sword (or whatever weapon) to protect the innocent. If ever there was an excuse for justified violence wouldn’t it have been when Peter picked up his sword to protect Jesus? In the book “Jesus for President” Shane Claiborne writes—“Jesus was laying down his life not for a country or nation or even his closest companions; he was laying down his life for sinners, evildoers, and enemies. He loved his enemies so much he died for them. After all, Jesus never said “greater love has no one that this: to kill those who oppress.”

Dietrich Bonheoffer regretfully plotted an assassination to kill Hitler. Unlike most people today, he made it clear that what he was doing was evil and sinful, but felt left with no other choice. He asked for God’s mercy and planted a bomb under Hitler’s desk. When it failed, Hitler became more convinced than ever that God was protecting him and his mission. Hitler rolled forward with plans to “rid the world of evil,” as he put it. History is filled with similar accounts of people doing wrong out of a deep sense of right.

 “Violence kills the image of God in us. It’s a cry of desperation, a weak and cowardly cry of a person suffocated by hopelessness. Violence goes against everything we are created for—to love and be loved—so it inevitable results in misery and suicide, either literal or metaphorical.” Shane Claiborne

US Army Veteran George Mizo wrote: “You, my church, told me it was wrong to kill…except in war. You, my teachers, told me it was wrong to kill…except in war. You, my father and mother, told me it was wrong to kill…except in war. You, my friends, told me it was wrong to kill…except in war. You, my government, told me it was wrong to kill…except in war. But I now know you were wrong, and now I will tell you my church, my teachers, my father and mother, my friends, my government, it is not wrong to kill except in war. It is wrong to kill.”

Church martyrs over the centuries have prayed that love would overcome hate. That men dying for their faith instead of killing for their faith, would save the world. As a Christian, I think my only “war cry” should be to love others, even if it kills me. ...Isn't that what Christ did?

I’m not going to pretend like I have all of this figured out in my head. But I can’t possibly believe that murder in any sense is a victory. I don’t remember the figures exactly, but something like well over 100,000 innocent civilian Iraqi’s have died at the hands of Americans. I can’t possibly believe that “we” are better than “them,” that we are any more precious or valuable. Christ died for you, for me, and for bin Laden. I have no right to think that I am more deserving of life than another.

“Don’t rejoice when your enemies fail; don’t be happy when they stumble.” Proverbs 24:17