Heal the World

Female Circumcision Is NOT Islamic

Heal the World — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 13:24:18 -0800

Female circumcision is not Islamic
It is not in the Quran

-There is no mention of circumcising females in the Koran, and only a brief mention in the authentic hadiths, which states: "A woman used to perform circumcision in Medina. The Prophet said to her: 'Do not cut severely, as that is better for a woman and more desirable for a husband.

-Some scholars of the Shari school of Islam, found mostly in East Africa, consider female circumcision terrible.

-The Qur'an promotes the concept of a husband and wife giving each other pleasure during sexual intercourse. For example:

"It is lawful for you to go in unto your wives during the night preceding the (day's) fast: they are as a garment for you and you are as a garment for them." (2:187)

"...and He has put love and mercy between you." (30:21)

Mutilated genitalia reduce or eliminate a woman's pleasure during sex.

The Qur'an (An-Nisa': 119) says that Satan will try to trick humans into body modification: "And I will surely lead them astray, and arouse desires in them, and command them and they will cut the cattle's ears, and I will surely command them and they will change Allah's creation."

In the nineteenth century, women in the United States and Europe were sometimes circumcised because it was believed to relieve epilepsy, hysteria, and insanity but stopped because of all the health problems and deaths of the women.

Female circumcision can cause many heath problems

These are some health problems female circumcision causes:

-hemorrhage and severe pain

-shock

-chronic pelvic infections

-vaginal scarring

-problems in pregnancy

-infibilation

-prolonged labor

-death to child during pregnancy

-baby brain damage

-sterility = no pregnancy possible

-back pain

-drainage of menstrual blood

-kidney pain

-chronic urinary tract infections

-urinary stones

-various sexual problems after marriage

-intense pain during sex

-no feeling during sex

-very long labor baby delivery

-painful keloid scar formation

-labial adhesions

-cysts of the clitoris

-vulval disfigurement

-vaginal calculi

-Psychosexual complications

-a feeling of reduced femininity

-diminished desire for coitus

-diminished coital frequency

-dyspareunia

-apareunia or vaginismus

-lack of orgasm; anal intercourse

-depression and psychotic states

-social problems.

-catheterization of bladder is difficult; second stage of labor is delayed

-tearing or splitting of the circumcision scar

-damage to baby head after delivery

-production of a vesicovaginal fistula

-death

Many girls die

It is not uncommon for girls, who are held down by female relatives, to die from shock or hemorrhage of the vagina, urethra, bladder, and rectal area may also be damaged, and massive keloid scarring.

False Reasons for circumcision

Uncircumcised women in countries have difficulty finding a marriage partner. Men typically prefer a circumcised wife because they are considered more likely to be faithful, but both a circumcised or uncircumcised woman can commit adultery.

Reasons why people circumcise their daughters:

-They think the clitoris is dangerous and must be removed for health reasons. Some believe that it is a poisonous organ, that can cause a man to sicken or die if contacted by a man's penis. Others believe
that men can become impotent by contacting a clitoris, or that a baby will be hydrocephalic (born with excess cranial fluid) if its head contacts the clitoris during birth. Some believe that the milk of the
mother will become poisonous if her clitoris touches the baby during childbirth.

-They think bad genital odors can only be eliminated by removing the clitoris and labia minora.

-They think circumcision prevents vaginal cancer.

-They think an unmodified clitoris can lead to masturbation, lesbianism or prostitution.

-They think Circumcision prevents nervousness from developing in girls and women.

-They think circumcision prevents the face from turning yellow.

-They think circumcision makes a woman's face more beautiful.

-They think if circumcision is not done, older men may not be able to match their wives' sex drive and may have to resort to illegal stimulating drugs.

-They think a clitoris generates sexual arousal in women which can cause insanity.

-They think the clitoris will grow and control the woman’s thinking if it is not removed.

-They think circumcised women cannot get HIV/AIDS.

None of these are true. Women who are not circumcised can stay virgins until marriage and do not have insanity. There is no danger for a baby to be born from a woman who has her clitoris. It is healthier for the baby if the mothers vagina is natural and unchanged. Uncircumcised women enjoy sex with their husbands more and this makes their husbands happier. Uncircumcised women do not commit adultery because they have a clitoris. Circumcised women and non circumcised women can both get
HIV/AIDS. Uncircumcised women do not suddenly become prostitutes, both circumcised women and uncircumcised women can be prostitutes. A woman becomes a prostitute by her own choice, not because she is not circumcised. The clitoris does not change size at all during a woman’s
entire lifetime. Having some desire for sex is natural for humans. Cutting off parts of the body to completely remove the desire is unnatural.

Male circumcision is different

The most important difference between Female circumcision and male circumcision is that, Female circumcision changes the natural functioning of the female body and male circumcision does not.

Many African People disagree with female circumcision

-Female circumcision is against the law in Burkina Faso, and many other African countries like Djibouti, the Central African Republic, Ghana, Guinea, Senegal, and Togo.

- Egypt has many laws against female circumcision and tries to teach all people in Egypt the harms of female cutting and to teach that this pagan custom has no connection with Islam."

-In Ethiopia, the Ministry of Education has used radio broadcasts to warn people that female circumcision is dangerous.

Please hear this story. It's A true story:

Hawa Adan Mohamed was born and raised in Somalia. At the age of 8 she underwent the most radical form of mutilation practiced infibulation. Performed by her aunt in a small village, the procedure was carried out without anesthetic, using basic cutting tools and thorns. "You know in Somalia, circumcision is such a deep deep part of a girl's life. From the moment we are crawling we know about circumcision, we know that our grandmother and mother and sisters are circumcised and we look forward to it being done. Back then, no one would even dream of not being circumcised.' Hawa Adan Mohamed's struggle with mutilation was a long and brutal one suffering many of the complications of the practice and losing an older sister who died after the operation.

"I have seen girls die after being circumcised, and the harmful effects go on and on, so I do feel much anger about it all, but I have no one to be angry at. 'You see, mothers always make sure their daughters are circumcised because they believe that this is the best for them. Despite the pain, I myself agreed with the practice because I thought that was best for me. "For example if a mother doesn't get her daughter circumcised, her daughter will be an outcast, no one will marry her and everyone would think she is a prostitute so it is a very difficult situation we can't be angry at anyone, because the mothers'
intentions are good."

In her early 20s Hawa Adan Mohained travelled and studied overseas, where she discovered there were other women who were not circumcised, and most importantly, other Muslim women who were not. Slowly she realized "how wrong the tradition was" and committed herself to the fight against the practice. In the early 70s she returned to Somalia and with a small group of women began her campaign. She was appointed director of women's education, the women's movement began to bring
about change and in 1977 infibulation was declared illegal."Circumcision is a very difficult and sensitive issue for women. Many doctors and nurses in Western countries don't know how to look after circumcised women and the women feel very shy and embarrassed seeking help. "Almost every circumcised woman has faced so much pain and trauma." In 1995 Hawa Adan Moharned returned home, to help her countrywomen. "I was devastated by what I saw. Girls were being infibulated every day with razors and thorns. Two young girls recently died following the procedure and yet still many don't
question it." Despite the horrors, she bears no anger toward the women who perform circumcision. "We cannot blame them because it is all they have ever known. Most of the women have never had any education on how harmful circumcision is. They believe that it is part of their religion and that the terrible pain is part of a woman's life. Many of the women have very little power and very little education. In this
area, all the women need is education on circumcision.'

They have set up a women's centre providing education programs, small-business , a bakery and schooling for orphans. 'Our message to them is that circumcision is very very harmful, that it is bad for our daughters, that it is not part of our religion and we must give it up.' Pictures of families that have given up mutilation now line Hawa Adan Mohamed's makeshift office. The 60year-old has many hopes for the future, including that Somalia will be a land of peace and that the women's program will grow and receive more money. But her dream is simple: "My dream is that in my lifetime there will be young girls living in the heart of Somalia who can run free and play without pain, without the cruel and devastating effects of circumcision.

http://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/intrel/jc.htm
http://www.dhushara.com/book/orsin/rites/rite.htm

by: Zipporah Pecot

From Prayer to Action

Heal the World — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 18:04:52 -0800

Sitting in a worship gathering at a local church in Dallas, I was unexpectedly met with the figure of a tall, handsome African man standing to speak to the congregation. His attire was traditional African, white and flowing to the ground. There must have been some kind of fan blowing near him on the platform because his robe seemed to move freely as he spoke.
That night, I walked away with a burning desire to begin praying for the nation of Burkina Faso. Honestly, I had never even heard of the nation. Praying for a nation, other than my own was a new concept to me, but one I was prepared to engage.
Knowing the difficulty I have focusing in prayer, I purchased a world map and hung it in my bedroom. Each night I’d look at the map and focus on Burkina Faso. I prayed for the believers, for pastors and for unbelievers. I prayed for the poor, the sick and especially for the orphans. I wondered if I would ever travel to Burkina. The idea seemed so unrealistic to me, especially in the early years of prayer. I wasn’t even convinced that I should ever go. Perhaps my part was to faithfully pray while others would go.
Teachings on prayer, and intercession for the nations intensified the level of prayer leading to an increasing desire to travel to Burkina Faso to meet the people for whom I had been interceding.
Nearly twenty years later, through a God ordained moment of crossing paths with John Roberts of Heal the World, the time had come. I’ll never forget the first steps on the ground of Burkina after landing in Ouagadougou. Overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude the journey intensified. Now, praying and serving was the path Christ had compelled me toward, opening doors all the way to make the dream possible.
The faces, the names, the smells, the sounds, the landscape and sunsets, like a dream I found myself quietly taking it all in. Putting sight to what I had been praying for so long. Seeing the evidence of God at work in the people and also hearing the cry for more. The needs so obviously great, and yet I experienced an inner confidence that God not only allows us to hear the cry of the needy, but will also provide the resources to meet those needs.
So we did what we could do with the resources we have been given and returned with a greater call to tell others of our journey and the great opportunity to come along. Perhaps now the challenge is to continue praying with even more passion and confidence, while looking for ways to partner with others to bring hope and life to the beautiful people of Burkina.

by: Darrel Auvenshine

An African in America

Heal the World — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 23:36:51 -0800

Note: The following is written by a beneficiary of the HtW scholarship program that sends exceptional students to university in America, the following text was written upon HtW's request to describe what have been some of the particularities to studying abroad.

- HtW staff

Countries are not the same. All countries have their particularities. You can know that even if you do not travel, but you can experience even more if you do travel. That is what I am experiencing now as new resident of United States of America. I am originally from Mali and am for the first time out of my native country. Since I have been in the USA it has been like I am living in a new world. Certainly it is a new world because all things are novel and different from how it used to be for me. However, my adjustment to this newness has not been as difficult as it would be for certain people, not sure why, just the way I was built I suppose.

When I arrived in the U.S.A the first things I faced was the food. I am used to eating cereals such as: rice, corn and sorghum. Yet in the USA I have been eating food that I even don’t know the name. In my first couple of weeks, food does not even taste good for me, and I felt like throwing up several times. However, in the third week I begin to like the food. When I move to the university I started learning the name of the foods because in the cafeteria the names are put up.

In addition to my problems, I spent several weeks before being familiar to the activeness of the American. In America, people are action-oriented. They gather for action to play basketball, to dance or to go to a concert. Many don’t have the patience to sit and talk, something that I am used to back home. I can say that I felt discomfort every Monday when my classmates would ask me what I have done over the week-end. If I said that I have just read and relaxed, they would look disappointed because they were expecting an answer that depicts action such as dancing or playing games. Yet, now I am part of this environment dominated by motions.

Moreover, I struggled with the fact that Americans are very expressive. As a person who is a little bit shy, you can imagine how difficult it could be living in an area dominated by expressions. During my first week in the university, I have been responding to a lot of questions. It is enough that I tell I am from Africa and they just began asking questions. Let me say those questions were difficult/frustrating sometimes.

One last thing I faced and am still facing is the informality in the classrooms. The students can eat or sit down no matter how in the class. They can even call the professor by his or her first name. I personally am not used to that. In my country we do not eat or sit down no matter how in class. We are required to be more formal. I always feel a bit shocked when I hear a student calling the professor by his or her first name and sometimes I even want to blame the student. Indeed my education recommends me to respect someone who is older than me. I am not saying that Americans are disrespectful but I am just differentiating America to my country in the educational setting. I guess respect takes on many forms around the world, and it can be hard to understand across cultures.

In fact, those are the main things I have been struggling with. Besides all of that there is the modernity. In the US things are more modernized. Yet, I was prepared to meet those new things.

Glimpses from the Mind of a Volunteer in Africa

Heal the World — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 13:37:27 -0700

BURKINA FASO

22 June 2008

So, This is Sunday. I was not prepared for what my heart would behold among the people of God in Burkina Faso. My time on the field was surrounded always by those who didn’t know Him, and daily, I would cry out to God for the salvation of the people. I would cry out to Him who grants joy to those around me who suffer. I would cry out to God to be the justice for those who are wronged. I’d cried out to God not to forget a people who are tired, weary, unseen to the world… whose wounds have crippled love
… but this morning, this morning… I was witness to a great and many believers who cried out to God in PRAISE for His goodness (Bark Wennaam) and faithfulness, and power. They cried in repentance of their sins and for the salvation of their country.

The country that Darrel has prayed for 20 years, after hearing a pastor…
He became the pastor preaching here today.

It overwhelmed me as I considered it… and what it must mean to him.

WENNAM BARAKA
(La Grâce du Ciel)
Amazing Grace

Zem-Zem ne panga
G (Re-D)

1) Wennnam baraka pouka douniyan ka,
A yiisi mam yelle-wena zanga;
Mam da menemame, n dena a wa zwanga,
La monsari mam paama faangere.

2) Wennam barka pouka douniyan ka,
Mam sounri debem faan loogame;
Soun-noongo kansenga wa mam sounri poga,
Daar kongo mam sen nya veenem

3) Ton san pa arazana youum tousiri,
N penge Baa Wennamm youure songo;
Ton keten tara panga ti wogemd Bam taore,
Youum tousiri yaw a singere bala.

Today has been incredible. After worship today, we ate lunch. Then we took a nap- very useful. Our hosts, Fredrick & Clarice, urged us to nap, it was a strong, strong urging – and so we gave up our walk around the area for a nap – and slept for almost 3 hours.

After, we went to an internet café. Then came back for dinner and discussion. It so happened that Darrel asked for Lazare’s testimony, which led to Pastor Fredrick to share his, then Jennifer.

Fredrick:

The son of an animist, and was born with an infection of the umbilicus. His father, who had buried 7 sons at childbirth, couldn’t bury him when he thought Fredrick was dead. So, he gave Fredrick to his grandparents. The grandparents pinched him and he moved his leg… just a little. His grandparents, from what I understand, raised him. He entered the military, then the ministry. He had been in the military for 15 years. And has now been in the ministry for 15 years. A Swiss couple has sent him to Switzerland for seminary training, built him a house and bought him a car. When he speaks about the people, he is passionate and sincere. His thoughts are well laid out and easy to follow. He spoke of a people coming to Burkina Faso… it was a dream from the prophetic Swissman… these people who would come would e white and speak neither More or French, but God would open the doors of heaven and blessing through them. So when Lazare came to him, after having spent time in Mali with YWHAM, then subsequently meting with HEAL THE WORLD and John Roberts… Lazare begins to tell Fredrick about these Americans who wanted to come and build a school. Lazare was so excited and amazed at what God was doing.

Then Jennifer shared her testimony of being an orphan – or fatherless and how that impacted her life and childhood – then about losing the Father figure she had – her uncle, a non-believer, to death. Then went to college, Seminary, then Zambia, where God placed an urgency on her heart regarding not just education but TRUTH.

Today has overwhelmed me.

I know I will be asked to share and I suppose that I will talk about the great romance of my life. How my father raised me through some moms – how I felt unloved because my mom didn’t love me. First how He pursued me and I remember Him speaking clearly and softly to my tender heart. Then Nancy, and how the Lord used her to show me love with boundaries. As hard as I may have tried.

Then I went to a conference for little girls to learn what God is doing all around the world. He told me that I will do His work overseas. Then I told Him to remind me. I got older and became a nurse so that I could go anywhere. And He began peaking my interest in the world.

I asked God for this love. To let me love the people like he loves them. He did. I went to Central Asia out of obedience. I stayed in Central Asia out of love.
Nancy taught me love without boundaries, Central Asia, unrequited love.

Then the Lord drew a line in the sand for me a couple of months ago… he said, Catrina, I am a GOD of love, and you don’t love people – you fear people. What? You do not love to the degree I have called you to. I want to love through you, but your capacity for love is too small. You MUST obey me on this or you will not be as useful for the kingdom. I will use others.

My entire life is about God’s Glory among the nations – for the sake of the Gospel. I do not want to be passed by, I want to be in the middle of what God has planned for me.

He has LOVE planned for me – a great love between Him and his people.

He is the Romance of my life.

23 June 2008 1455

Today we went to see the minister of education. What ended up happening was us scheduling a meeting with the minister of education.

Africa takes an afternoon break from the heat as well.

Darrel said something to me today… we were talking about last night. Before Lazare’s testimony, we had been talking about his vision for the school – orphanage. He talked about everything being open and clear, nothing hidden… he was speaking about the transparency of his dealings. My heart spoke warning with these words – to me, of course, words mean nothing – so my spirit says, okay, but I will wait, and see if his words have meaning or if this is to manipulate some hidden agenda. What reverberates in my spirit is – to trust words is foolishness because words mean nothing. Then Darrel, at the bank today (we went to exchange money before going to see the minister of Education)… was talking about Lazare and how transparent he was being and how incredibly encouraged he was by that. In true form, not letting a moment go by without stating my often inconsequential – yet full of pride, opinion said – wait, oh Darrel, wait – words mean nothing… time will tell us if what is being said is truth. Then we began talking about Central Asia and Burkina Faso and skepticism. Then he mentioned how they must be somewhat skeptical of us – Americans who come and visit, who say to nationals – we want to come and make a difference… will we go home and never return? Will we come through with the money we say we want to give? We say we love them… will there be any follow through with the words that come from our mouths? When the Lord declares to me in a moment of truth that I do not love to the degree that He has called me… what will be my response to this calling? I say I love…

Psalm 27:8
My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.:”
And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.”

Psalm 27

The lord is my light and salvation – so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble? When evil people come to devours me, when my enemies and foes attack me, they will stumble and fall. Though a mighty army surrounds me, my heart will not be afraid. Even if I am attacked, I will remain confident.

The one thing I ask of the Lord – the one thing I seek most – is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, delighting in the Lord’s perfections and meditating in his Temple.

For he will conceal me there when troubles come; he will hide me in his sanctuary. He will place me out of reach on a high rock. Then I will hold my head high above my enemies who surround me. At his sanctuary I will offer sacrifices with shouts of joy, singing and praising the Lord with music.

Hear me as I pray, O Lord. Be merciful and answer me! My heart has heard you say, “come and talk with me.” And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.” Do not turn your back on me. Do not reject your servant in anger. You have always been my helper. Don’t leave me now: don’t abandon me, O God of my salvation! Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.

Teach me how to live O Lord. Lead me along the right path, for my enemies are waiting for me. Do not let me fall into their hands. Fort they accuse me of things I’ve never done’ with every breath they threaten me with their violence. Yet I am confident I will see the Lord’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living. Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.

How this passage spoke to me in Central Asia, and how it, again, is speaking heavily into my heart after hearing about the black line that is moving downward in descent…

June 23, 2008 2100

Random Thoughts after dinner while singing with the pastor’s family:

- Nothing touches my heart the way other cultures, tongues and languages do while singing praise unto God.

- The youngest son of Pastor Fredrick, Kaleb, has taken to John Roberts. He sits next to him, under the covering wrap of John’s arm.

- Darrel shines as he plays old precious hymns.

- Worshipers sing praises unto God – and the Spirit speaks to us all – no matter our language or culture. Eyes close and the Spirit over takes the eager waiting heart… what a blessing to see in the Mossi.

- Such a passion behind the word Jesus. Spoken and sung. So much more than in our home churches… where provisions are so great and need is so little.

- Singing hallelujah and Praise God in about 10 different languages… oh, what a blessing

Praise God Song written by in my journal by Clarice, Pastor’s Wife:

Barka oh wennaam x2

Yamb nonglem ya Kasenga

Barka oh wennaam

24 June 2008 1641

So, we’re sitting in the mayor’s secretary’s office, in the process of trying to register HEAL THE WORLD with the gov’t. The man we’re meeting with, Rasmane Ganemtore, is the Chief of Staff for the mayor, and is being very helpful by writing needed letters for the registration process to run more smoothly. This guy is the “front door” to the mayor… God’s favor so heavily has descended in this office…

By writing this letter, the okay is given by the mayor’s office, as John explains, telling the Ministry of Education to pick up any road blocks placed by them – NOW! The mayor has much invested in this city. And he wants this project in his city. What a blessing, what a man of peace this man is.

24 June 2008 1341

My heart aches over Ruth today. Well, over Ruth yet so much more. Really the Lord has been asking me about the cost of serving him. What price is too high? My life means nothing – I hold no value in my life except that which God has given me to serve. But my friends, my loved ones… what about that cost? Is that price too high? ... to high to serve the Lord? The Lord is moving my heart towards a life where nothing competes with my love for Him, and desire to see His name glorified among all nations.

Before dinner tonight, we went for a walk and ended up at the Assoc. Pastor’s house. The ladies of his house were mashing maize… probably to cook for dinner. Lazare, again with us as our faithful companion and friend, eagerly asks me to participate in the mashing. As the dusk settles in and the sun is at the skyline, the cool of the evening speaks of God’s mercy in the cool breeze. I grip the heavy wooden rod in the middle and raise it vertically high above my head and slam it against the maize as I had seen the skilled, artful hands of the women standing before me do. The rhythm of the rods into the maize is key to control, ease and efficiency. Unable to continue to rapid pace, the hands that now gripped the familiar grooves in the rod and with light effort beats the maize heavily and rapidly, returning to the rhythmic sound of ladies at work. As we leave and start down the road, returning to our host’s home, looking back to the wall where women are working… in the ever-darkening night the barely visible rods peak over the wall, rise and fall with the rhythmic pounding of three rods racing the fall of light.

WHEN THE TEARS FALL

I’ve had questions without answers
I’ve known sorrow, I have known pain
But there’s one thing that I cling to
You are faithful. Jesus you’re true

When hope is lost, I’ll call you Savior
When pain surrounds, I’ll call you Healer
When silence falls, you’ll be the Sun within my heart

In the lone hour of my sorrow
Through the darkest night of my soul
You surround me and sustain me
My defender forever more

And I will praise you, I will praise You
When the tears, fall, still I will sing to You
I will praise you, Jesus praise You
Through the suffering, still I will sing
When hope is lost, I’ll call You Savior
When pain surrounds, I’ll call You healer
When silence falls, You’ll be the song within my heart …

When the laughter fails to comfort
When my heart aches, lord You are there
When confusion is all around me
And the darkness is my closest friend

… still I will praise You, Jesus praise You!!!

25 June 2008

I am overwhelmed with my aching for Ruth. My heart hurts, I’ve pretty much said what it feels today… but I am prompted to express again with all that I see… all that reminds me of Central Asia… I see the bikes along the dirt roads, floating by with covered men, women walking in the heat with experienced, weathered eyes, the chaos of shops lining the road, the buzz of busy city streets with honking horns, the smell of the diesel gasoline exhaust blowing into the air, the smell of bodies packed tightly together…

The sound and hurt of a nation that is in need… in need of the only
true living God who can satisfy all needs.

… I hear the Lord whisper to me…

Amidst all I hear and see, all that is familiar, and all that is
beckoning me to discover, … The Lord whispers…

What is the price that is too high for you to follow me? Is it the insulations of being less than? Would it be disunity? Would it be violence against you or your body? Would it be for you to not marry? Would it be for you not to bare children? Would it be death? Would it be the suffering and death of those you love? The death of loved ones at the hands of a people you love?

What is it? Catrina, my beloved, what is too high a price for you to
follow me?

26 June 2008 0120

We met after dinner to talk, an “intimate conversation,” as pastor puts it, … from the heart about our expectations of Africa before we arrived, since we arrived, and how that influenced our perceptions. I went last, because I was afraid to be honest, but, in the end, I shared about Ruth, and in response to that… God’s question… What will be too high a price?... to follow me? Then something happened that bonded my heart to another… Clarice held me in her arms for about an hour,… she wouldn’t let me go.

26 June 2008

Today we visited the Ministry of Education again, and when we were unsuccessful with that we went to the Ministry of Higher Education only to find that unsuccessful because there was a protest at the university… it was in the newspaper yesterday, John mentioned having seen it… and today there was a big meeting to address it and the ministries we needed to visit were at that meeting. John said the protest was over the conditions of the university, but he wasn’t sure what conditions.

Then we ended up at the internet café to write a letter from HEAL THE WORLD to the Minister of Education as suggested by the secretary this AM. She had been visited that day by 20+ requests to have an audience with the MoE. So, when I had finished online, I went to sit outside on a bench facing the street and breathed in the culture before me. I was at home. It is amazing I can feel so at home here, so much more easily and so much more quickly that I ever can in America, my eyes swell with tears from all that is within me… Darrel and Jennifer were also on the bench and Darrel started telling us stories of his dad, the stories we couldn’t hear so easily last night. Then we were off to the house for sweet potato lunch with tomato sauce to top… quenching our recent discussion (@ the internet café) of fast food. Siesta was short, but powerful, then off to the Ministry of Education to drop off the letter requested, then off to the bank where we couldn’t open an account, d/t not being registered as an NGO… so this led to the trip to the Ministry of Registration to request paperwork validating the process off our registration. They said to come back at 8 AM . Then to take passport photos…

29 June 2008 1500

I was in tears all day. We had gone back to the internet café and Paula (another teammate’s mom) had written me to tell me that Jonah, her son and my old boss and friend was at a survival training for those who live and work in countries where capture is likely. Ruth is on the breath of every thought, as she had such a beautiful picture of the love God intended us to have for each other. She so beautifully displayed his love in her simple interactions, everyday. She had such a grip on this. With what is before me now, she would know what to do and how to handle things with grace – to edify and what I can do to bring peace and resolution to relationships with friction. This only furthered my tears, …

29 June 2008 1530

There are some interesting stories I want to write before I forget…

Before the rain in the afternoon, there was a storm cloud approaching… it was layered with magnificent colors, textures, densities and shapes… the night was closing in around us, it was a pre-dinner walk and lightening was making one particular storm cloud glow as white and slate colored clouds covered portions of the blue, grey, and purple colored sky… we were all walking together with the pastor’s kids… in Africa.

Darrel mentioned seeing a bunch of chickens tied by the feet to a bicycle as a man maneuvered his way around the city streets.

We saw 2-3 baby goats, black, tied to the back of a bicycle tray as a man made his way around the northern part of the city… when we drove by and the goats were crying, John said… it always reminds him of a baby, and he doesn’t like it, too human sounding (he used to be a vegetarian).

There have just been countless women carrying babies on their backs… while riding bicycles, motorcycles, carrying trays on their heads… babies of all ages… newborn (they almost always have knitted caps on their heads) to toddlers. They all do it, and all the babies hang out there. The heat is so much – they must be little ovens all of themselves… goodness.

Jennifer has seen kids playing a rope game 5-6 times. Thought I haven’t seen it yet, here expert preschool eye identified it many times. There is no standard reality, we all view the world as WE view it, life is so much more beautiful because of the “we”, alone would be so bo

Tales of a Botswana Orphanage

Heal the World — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 20:16:26 -0700

I woke up at the usual 3 a.m. freezing from the poorly built walls and window in the room. I wasn’t sure if my wake was from the donkey's wailing or from the cold air. I lay in bed until I heard the voices of the orphans beginning to prepare their breakfast, sometime between 4 a.m. and 6a.m.

I put on my gloves, boots and jacket over my already double layered clothing and walked over to the door. After securing the knife that I slept with in my boot, I turned the keys to unlock the door. The bedroom keys jingled as I tossed them in one of my boots. Outside the room I fumbled my way across the house banging my knees and legs against the dusty furniture. The sun had not risen yet and the house was pitch black. Coughing from the stale dust, I fought my way through the padlocked door. Ma Chabe never locked it — she only put the lock through the hinge that stopped the door from being opened from the outside. The dogs immediately barked as I stepped out. They jumped on me begging for feeding.

“Dumeda!” I said as I walked into the slightly candlelit kitchen. Motusi, one of the 18-year-old boys, smiled and said hello, taking a break from his breakfast preparation. Kabone smiled from behind him, and lit a match to the stove. "Okay," I said, "how do I make it?" Motusi poured some grain mixture into an over-sized dented metal pot followed by tap water. "Then you just stir it," he said.

The Botswana orphanage, in Mogoditshane, children number to about 25. It was like more. however, because of the children that always seemed to be on the property from the surrounding houses. I enjoyed spending time with them and they loved learning and attending any activity I thought up for us to do.

They were at school most of the day. Since they had to walk home, they wouldn't begin to arrive back until around 3:30pm. They all finally would be returned at 4pm. They lacked in doing chores, homework at times, and generally anything of an organized nature. Supper preparation was done though — If they didn't cook, they didn't eat. Ma Chabe, the owner of the house and yard, which was the 'orphanage', spent the day time sleeping, visiting people in the community, attending dead relatives' funerals, or just gone without anyone knowing her whereabouts. Ma Chabe was the original care-taker of the children, being the one who started the orphanage out of her home. I half admired her and half despised her for her obvious lack of care and attention to the children. She has HIV and is doing what she can, I would remind myself when I started feeling more dislike for her than anything else taking over.

When I first had arrived at the orphanage I was happy about my own room that was provided for me. When I had visited the property previously, I slept with the Jr. high aged girls in their ‘outside house' add-on room. And with the combination of the kerosene lamp fumes, stuffy urine smell (from the inside bucket they used), and considerable mosquito bites, the experience of sharing had been quite unpleasant.

When I ate the food they cooked the first few times, I quickly realized that it couldn't be an ongoing practice for me. Each mea l resulted in me lying in bed afterward spraying to throw up. Going to the grocery store, or 'shop', turned out to be a hassle. The com bi (their small buses) were usually packed and terribly uncomfortable. They reeked of sweat and body odor.

Every time someone got out, one fourth of the passengers had to get out of the com bi for exiting persons to leave. I took one of the orphan girls with me the first time I took the com bi so I wouldn't get lost in town and we got lost trying to get home somehow anyway. I laughed at the fact that getting to the shop was no problem for her, but going back was entirely complicated.

After having men stop on the road to ask me to go home with them, and drivers honking and driving along side the sidewalk to continually convince me to get into their vehicle, I changed my shopping partners to the teenage boys from the orphanage as well as covered my hair, nose, and mouth with a scarf. I was surprised to find vegan products in the shops! There were also veggie burger options at some of the restaurants. My favorite food in Botswana was the chips (french fries) and vegetable curry pies that I only had the pleasure of having if I had time to sneak off to the local mall and eat.

Unfortunately, Ma Kris (one of Ma Chabe's friends) who was suppose to come help at the orphanage but would only come at meal time and eat, was extremely offended at my not eating at the house. "Guest are supposed to eat our food," she would exclaim. She complained for weeks to anyone who would listen. Guests had many duties to perform according to Ma Kris; a guest is supposed to bring presents to everyone once they arrive, a guest should come out and sit and talk to all people when they came to visit (which was at every hour it seemed), make tea for herself and Ma Chabe, (the children would joke of the tea having addictive drugs because of Ma Chabe’s and Ma Kris' constant consumption), clean and iron my clothes every week, make my bed every morning, put oil in my hair so it was shiny like theirs, lotion my body and face before I go out, bathe every morning (saying I'll get use to the cold water), keep my sandals shined, make sure there is no lint on my clothes, and find Ma Kris a husband.

My patience for Ma Kris' rules for me ended quickly. "Ma I don't iron my clothes", I would tell her, "I don't even own and iron in America." She would laugh and say "You are a woman -child. You have to listen to elders. Go make us tea.” "No , I am a woman-woman," I would protest. "And how can I make you tea all afternoon when no one is with the children? You make the tea, I'll tend the children. And why do we have a cook if the children prepare breakfast and dinner and the tea is not made?" "Zipporah, it is too much work for the cook!"

We went to church on Sundays. The com bi came to collect us at 9am though it was the same time that the church started. There were so many of us going that we rented an entire com bi each Sunday, and we still couldn't all fit. The church was a Baptist denomination. The service was about 45 minutes, but more like 20 for us late goers. Everyone would turn and look as we disruptively all scattered around looking for leftover empty seats. When we prayed I kept my eyes opened or clutched my wallet in my hands. I had been warned of the people who would go to church, pretending to be praying, then steal unsuspecting victims bags while everyone's eyes were closed.

After church when we arrived home, I began to have 'girl times.’ Girl times consisted of me taking the girls aged 9 to 17 out to the field and we would discuss things such as self defense, their bodies, sex, biblical women characters, etc. The boys began to get jealous of my time with the girls and demanded a boys time. I gladly found an older church boy to commit to the boys time. Other activities that we all did together were bible studies every Wednesday at 6pm, children times every Saturday afternoon, fun Fridays (where well behaved children were rewarded), various game times, and bed stories (the older kids read stories to the younger ones). I also had a chore schedule implemented with the help of 18 year old Motusi. He was a very nice young man whom continually assisted me with the children. He was also one of the best behaved young adults at the orphanage and well liked by the children. Many of the children spoke no English but only Seswana. Motusi would translate instructions for games as well as my Bible studies.

Though most of the children listened to me quite easily, one of the children, named Thuso, proved to be quite disobedient at times. He was skipping school, getting into fights and harsh arguments with the others. He had been a street boy from a background of heavy family witchcraft. When there was a fight amongst the children we would do conflict management. Both children had to write what happened, and we would talk about how we could approach situations differently in the future and resolve our differences without physical contact. When Thuso would refuse to go to school I finally got fed up and took away all of his belongings. I took them away one day at a time; he refused to go to school. All he ended up having left was his school clothes. The poor boy even had his supper time taken away in the end. He would cry and plead , but still refused to attend school. I went to his school and spoke with his teachers and principal, they all had stories of how naughty he was at school tricking the teacher to drive him to the hospital when he wasn't sick and the children at school fearing him because of the witchcraft. I increased Thuso's chores and made him write out Bible verses about children obeying authority and about witchcraft displeasing God.

Eventually, he listened. He even made a booklet for himself for the teachers to stamp to prove he had been to school! I gave Thuso a diary and told him that he was to write in it often to see his feelings on paper. He also had to write down all but of his dreams of what he wanted to be in the future in the back of the diary and show it to me when he finished. He was unexcited about the dream task, but a few days later he came and showed me his career dreams. His writings said that he wanted to be a pastor, have a wife, drive a Lexus and have a big house. I told him that it was wonderful, and could all come true, he just had to work hard and apply himself. I found myself getting into the habit of telling Thuso "You're a good boy, you just have to act like one, that's all." He would smile wide every time, which hadn't been a common occurrence.

There were terrible things going on at the orphanage I soon learned. The driver appeared to have lots of control over the plot as well as Ma Chabe herself. He slept in the same bed as Ma Chabe. The children called him Mr. Chabe until they were hushed by adults living there when I was present. He yelled at the children blatantly and said who could and couldn't have rides in 'his car..’ I confronted Ma Chabe on her sleeping in bed with the diver if he wasn't her husband (her being a Christian widow as far as all the donor knew) Ma Chabe told me that he was her dead husband's brother, and was sent by the government ordered to sleep with her though he had a wife in a nearby city.

There was severe neglect and abuse that the children endured. The children were given no education about sex or HIV/AIDS, most of them did not understand the basics of how the virus is contracted though many of them were carriers of it. This was very alarming because there was all the more reason that they would infect eachother.

Fully developed young women, some being as old as 17 years, walked out of the showers completely nude and wet in front of the men, women and children residing at the house as well as visitors, whom then would complain at times that the girls should be covered. No attention was given to the children by Ma Chabe or MaKris and when I would confront them on it they would say "You are here, you do it.” Many of the children would suffer and complain of constant toothaches that were keeping them awake at night from never seeing a dentist though it was free for them to go.

Bridget’s (one of the girls with severe eye problems) teacher at school had threatened to call the police on her "parents" if she was not taken to the clinic to have her eye surgery that had been delayed repeatedly. The boys and some of the little girls urinated in the rooms to put out candles for fun frequently. The children were beaten with branches (over-sized and sometimes ones containing thorns) as well as with fists, and other items that Ma chabe and Ma Kris would tell me are appropriate to beat children with. Most all the children had physical scars on their bodies they showed me from being beaten. Two young girls around the age of 5 or 6, were caught having sex with each other while I was at the house. I took them aside to deal with the situation and called Ma Kris over to assist me to speak with the girls about where they learned to do this type of behavior and movements with each other. Ma Kris strongly suggested that we beat the girls.

Often the children would ignore the adults from the community when an order to do something was finally given, breaking the usual neglect, and they would be beaten. I began to physically intervene by snatching the children away or putting my body between the adult and child.

Some funds that HTW gave were being inappropriately used. The entire community used the resources at Ma Chabe's place like the water, and they all would come to eat there. When I confronted Ma Chabe about how the orphanage could not afford to feed the community she said that it was true but she wanted to feed the community, which was nice of her but as a result, the children would suffer from having to share food that was donated for them with an entire community of people.

I was having a difficult time managing it all. There was a flying missions volunteer that came twice a week for a few hours to help with the daycare children. There was also a volunteer who would visit the sick in the surrounding houses with Ma Kris weekly. A nice girl of Indian decent was newly appointed to handle the accounting. She was around my age and would invite me to her house or out to eat, which I graciously accepted the break. There was an Australian woman whose entire family was working with the church there who would try to teach the Bible to Ma Chabe and Ma Kris once a week. The woman was a big help by doing most of the outside shopping for the orphanage.

The Australian also eventually shared information with me of how Ma Kris was having an affair with the orphanage driver who would sleep with Ma Chabe. The driver and Ma Kris were trying to poison Ma Chabe to get hold of her land as well as the HTW donations. Ma Chabe confirmed the terrible story later that same night. Ma Chabe also told me that she was preparing Ma Kris to marry the driver by helping her with the wedding plans, and how she had been sick one of the entire days last week, vomiting, because she realized that they had put something in her tea! There was a chance that the poison could accidentally get delivered to the wrong person one day as well!

The Australian woman had also told me that right before I had arrived to Botswana this second time there had been an incident where Thuso had to lead the police to where his family had done human sacrifices. She said that he was able to tell the police where hidden body parts were in the bushes. She said that a man who was studying to be a pastor, a friend of hers was there as well. He said that while they were up on a mountain with the police Thuso started to speak in a strange language that he had never heard of before. Then a serpent rose up out of a rock and Thuso started speaking to the serpent and it spoke back!

This was all quite a shock of news for me. I later spoke with Thuso about it and he confirmed the story. I asked him if he was afraid when all this happened or if it was normal to him. "It is normal," he said. I reminded him of the Bible verses I had made him write out before about the witchcraft and told him that we couldn't do both witchcraft and love God. He said that he agreed with me and told of how the studying pastor had spoken with him about it also. I asked Thuso if the mountain that these sacrifices had been done on was the same mountain that he had led the children and I up once when we wanted to go hiking, recalling in my memory the kids saying that the money on the ground of the mountain top was for people who prayed there and the giant pole there that I kept questioning about. Already knowing the answer Thuso answered “Yes, it was the same mountain.” I thought about asking him if he himself had been involved in the murder of these people or the butchering of the bodies, but I stayed silent., fearful of the answer I would receive.

I myself got attacked by a sexual predator some kilometers away from the orphanage. I luckily warded him off with threats of my knife that I carried. I had personally expected that something of the nature would happen sooner or later. All the males that I had any contact with outside of the orphanage flirted with me quite aggressively. Ma Chabe even promised me to one of the men in town and he continually would bring her gifts until I found out about it and blatantly rejected him.

After informing HTW of the orphanage troubles, John, HTW president, arranged for me to stay with the Australian family for safety. John flew to Botswana and we confronted Ma Chabe and Ma Kris. They had little to no reaction and didn't sound like they intended on changing anything. We went to the police station and social workers and explained what was happening at the orphanage.

I think the saddest day for me was saying good-bye to the children, unable to take them immediately from the orphanage house. When John and I had gone back to the house to confront Ma Chabe and get the rest of my belongings, I went into the girls’ room and told them to call all of the older girls inside. I told them that I was leaving Botswana soon. They cried and wrote me letters in the diaries I had given them. I gave them all the jump ropes, books and other materials that I had brought and told them I loved them and that God would take care of them. I also told them to carry on with the Bible stories and book readings at bed time. John gathered all the children together and told them why HTW had to end with helping and all of the barriers prohibiting us from helping the children. I hugged each one good-bye. I didn't know where Thuso was, but when we got in the car to drive away I saw him at the gate of the yard. I ran over to him and hugged him and he was already crying though I hadn't told him of my leaving. I thought he would collapse he cried so much. I told him that he would be okay. "You're a good boy, God will take care of you". He didn't say a word.

I got into the car and as we drove off I quickly found a photo of myself in my baggage and handed it to Thuso out the car window as we passed him, remembering on my first trip how he had asked for my photo.

A few days later, Motusi called me to say hello/goodbye again. I asked him if there was food for them without me there. He said yes. I told him to tell Thuso to share the photograph I gave him with the other children. He said okay. I told him to tell the other children I love them. After we hung up he sent me a text message that said "I forgot to tell you they [Ma Chabe & Ma Kris] are saying you have gone because we misbehaved. We will always love you no matter what they say about you."

Westerners come here and know Botswana has problems because every one in three people have HIV/AIDS and that the government is corrupt; but when someone lives there, out comes all of the other problems to go along with the others. I realized that the people were operating on a whole different set of morale. Many Christians there worship God in church and have their idols at home. If they are sick, they go to a witch doctor and seek to be cured.

by: Zipporah Pecot

Our Dear Life in Burkina Faso

Heal the World — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 11:21:56 -0700

Due to slavery, Burkina Faso is one of the poorest places on the planet. The majority of the population is stripped and undergoes the stress of inflation, the continuous increase in costs for basic necessities. I will discuss and explain in a sincere manner, the effects of the high cost of living felt by the Burkinabe in their everyday lives.

Our family, like a great number of others in the region, are underdeveloped. This is visible on many levels. Since we are directly affected by inflation, living conditions are unstable. There is no guarantee that we will have something to eat each day. Even two meals a day are not assured. The food shortage is so evident that you can read it on the faces of the Burkinabe and in their skeletal bodies. They are very skinny. In addition, we cannot eat well because of the insufficient quality and quantity of our poor monotonous meals.

Without doubt, this is a direct consequence of the inflation of prices for basic necessity items such as food. Rice, oil and various condiments are increasingly inaccessible for those of us with low incomes. We eat two times a day, never forgetting to share the little we have with other “COCOS” (those with empty stomachs) in the Christian spirit of charity and solidarity. (Remember that the Mossi, the upright man, is not only known for his hospitality to foreigners, but also for his solidarity to others. These two words are legendary). Most days, we find ourselves in front of the kiosk in the morning drinking black coffee with a little sugar to resist and forget about our hunger. The coffee allows us to not feel hungry the entire day, however, you must admit this will have consequences on our health.

Our misery does not end with food. We equally know the problems with health, employment, housing, and education here. There are many in this area that still do not have access to drinking water. This is the case with my parents who are located a long way from a spring. Also, school age children cannot all attend school or be educated because their parents do not have the sufficient means. In the United States, we can have three or four jobs, but here we have difficulty finding one, no matter what it is. The youth gather unemployed around a pot of tea.

It is difficult to meet other needs in addition because of unemployment. Personal and some of the most elementary needs remain unsatisfied. Without money, the absence of a means of transportation limits my classes and confines me to the house because is in an isolated area without access to buses and tarred roads. Therefore, it is impossible to be at the internet café to browse.

Concerning needs, they are also impacted by misery. The community of Burkinabes only has one preoccupation, futbol, However, the youth have little interest in it. We practice on rocky terrain and play barefoot. However, there is a game that adapts well to our situation. It is the game of Ware. In this game, two people can find shade under a tree or hanger and they dig twelve holes, a pair of six holes in a straight line side by side. They put four pieces (rocks/marbles/pebbles/small balls) in each hole. The first player takes on set of four pieces from any of the holes on his side and distributes one into each hole following it. Every time he lands in a hole with pebbles/pieces he must pick them all up and keep distributing. He can continue until his last piece is put into an empty hole. Then it is the next person’s turn. Every time you create a hole with four pieces you can pick up those pieces as long as they are on your side of the board. If it is on the other person’s side, it is for them. The only time you can pick up four pieces from a whole you created on the other person’s side is if that group of four pieces was created with the last piece/pebble in your hand. The person who collects the second to last group of four gets to collect the remaining pebbles. At the end of the game, each person counts how many groups of four they have. The one with the most groups of four wins the game.

There are many other problems experienced here, which are unfamiliar to you, concerning marriages with dowry, funerals, and generational conflicts, just to name a few.

To conclude, it is important to note that the misery here is the source of many social problems such as juvenile delinquency, prostitution, alcoholism, drugs etc. Our situation is becoming more lamentable, but despite the financial and political constraints, we are looking for a remedy and happiness in communing with God and with foreign brothers such as you Americans.

- Lazare Dakoure (Burkina Faso)

*translated by Debbie First-Quao (Mali)

No Photo's Allowed?

Heal the World — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 16:28:19 -0700

On a recent trip to Africa, Mali more specifically; I encountered the infamous West African Trade wind known as the Harmattan. While this phenomenon was quite impressive, it was the local reaction that really intrigued me.

A bystander, no one I had any previous encounter with, jumped in front of my camera waving his arms with fury as I took a picture of the, to me, unique experience. Why: because I might profit from it and leave him without compensation. Granted my brother had no idea that I was a humanitarian aid worker, but still, apparently to him, the wind that falls within his borders is the intellectual property of Malians.

Forgive my frustration, but the point of it has grown coarse against my heart. Recently HtW was registering with the government of Mali. Our local staff, Noel, was approached by the police. They interrogated him for hours, made him to return daily for a week. What did they say could stop this, and yield our folder going through the next hoop of bureaucracy? 5,000 CFA (US $10). Our agenda in Mali reaches into the millions, including education aid to the tertiary level…probably affecting directly the life of these men or their children, and he wants ten bucks to pass our folder on… "for his trouble" (aka his job).

What I am getting at is the culture of individualism that exists in Mali, rather my distaste for it. More importantly, how that can prevent development. Whether it is a president selling the natural wealth of a country to his/her own gain, or our not so friendly corrupt police officer preventing aid from reaching his country for…ten US dollars, the situation is alarming and widespread.

I have been working in Africa on and off for four years. Each African country has its particularities. In the south of Algeria the Touareg men wear turbans died of indigo which leaves there skin a deep blue, in Botswana the sign of status is how many cattle you have, in niger… how many wives. A local chief once told me "all the big chiefs have four", he had two, one of which was 13 compared to his 50. The same chief later offered to find me a bride, he proudly said he would set me up with a 14 year old. Amongst other obvious complaints and polite rebukes, I mentioned to him that I would be arrested upon returning to America for such an undertaking.

Culture with all its eccentricities, brings with it, at times, many downfalls. Take the Sahel. In many countries in the region 90% plus of the woman are circumcised. Old news to most, but a fresh reality for all too many thirteen year olds…today! Or certain Southern African nations, where marriage has dissolved so far that in a recent interview a young woman told me "her dream was to have three children…by the same father." I am focusing on the bad, granted, but sometimes we need to. I rebuke any cultural relativist claim that purports "it's ok for them, that is their culture"…Hitler's culture (with a then sizeable following – destroying his entire country) was to exterminate the Jews…accepted via cultural relativity…no!!!...obliterated via the determination of a generation.

To calm down a bit, please understand the profound love I have for the continent of Africa and every country I named above. But at times, like the silly example of my photo, people drive me crazy. The quirks that scratch me in these situations, irritate many, disinterest countless, and contribute to the continued circle of poverty that far too many able, willing and amazing people are subjugated to. Sometimes culture is to be respected like nature: take only photos (ha), leave only footprints, sometimes it is to be treated like mosquitoes – protected with nets, squashed sympathetically. Can I get an amen? Or am I just ignorant?

By John Roberts

An Experience in Mali 2007

Heal the World — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 18:27:18 -0700

In July of 2007, a team of eight, including myself, went on trip to Mali in West Africa with Heal the World, Inc. Our immediate objective was to tutor students in English in preparation for the TOEFL exam. On the other hand, our long-term objective is to raise the standard of education in Mali.

Why Mali? Here are some facts:

· It’s a former French colony located in sub-Saharan West Africa.

· The 4th poorest country in the entire world.

· Life expectancy is only 48 years

· 22% of children die before the age of 5

· The average income is less than $400 US per year

· Only 19% of adults, ages 15 and older, are literate

Without education there is no development, and Mali is very still a developing country. As you know, children are the future. So to invest in Mali's future, we chose to invest in their youth. We partnered with the Christian non-profit organization YWAM (Youth with a Mission) and found 40 high school seniors with a baseline in English. We taught, tested, and prepped them for the TOEFL for an entire month. The exam is SAT-like and is needed to apply to colleges in the US if you come from a non-English speaking country. As a follow up, we sent an intern to live in Mali for nine months to tutor the top students. We had planned to sponsor the very top students with college scholarships in the US, if they are accepted.

That was only the beginning. By God’s grace, one our students, named Ariel, passed the exam, and was accepted to both Biola University and Azusa Pacific University. He will be attending Azusa this Fall of 2008. Having it all in perspective, it’s an honor to have been part of this project and to witness the fruits of our labor.

The experience I took with me was invaluable as well. Mali is mostly a Muslim country with a 1% Christian population. Things like female genital mutilation are still common even though it's not a religious duty. Often old culture supersedes new religion. But people of Mali are very kind and hospitable, especially our Christian brothers and sisters there. I realized that in a big way when I got very sick the first morning in Koutiala. I could barely eat the bread and tea for breakfast because I was crying so much out of my shell shock and anxiety. I was sick for almost 4 days, and I stayed in bed most of that time. I couldn’t hold food down, and I was very tired.

Everyone was so caring. The whole YWAM base soon found out about me and regularly asked how I was doing. The language barrier was pretty frustrating because everyone speaks French, but I managed. The girls who generously stayed with me in the classroom at night were very sweet. They would bring me bread for breakfast, and even take me to the shower to make sure I didn’t fall over from being dizzy or weak. One nurse brought me a porridge type soup the first night because I couldn’t handle solids and another brought me crackers.

As soon as I was well, I was reassigned my seven students. My students spoke 3 languages including French and the trade language, Bambara. They’re very smart and funny too. Their high school education is actually more difficult than in the U.S. - not everyone passes. They even have to choose a major like in college. The thing I like the most about them is that they are not self-oriented but society-oriented. In other words, they want to improve themselves for the sake of their families and their country rather then themselves. I learned this from the many essays we made them write. Their motivation is outward focused instead of inward focused. Here in the States, on the other hand, we are motivated by self-interest. For example, we say "I don't want to do drugs because it would harm my body and I want to be a doctor." They say, "I don't want to do drugs because it would disgrace my family and harm my society, and I want to help my society." Big difference!

I would like to think that I put others before myself as it says in the scriptures, but being with those kids and the people, and thinking about them again, really helps me reevaluate my actions and motivations.

__________________________________________________

Just to place you in the scenery….

Imagine going to a rural city, a place much different from the big city. To get there requires a 5 hour bus ride from the capital city with no air conditioning and livestock on the roof. Imagine the largest buildings only being two stories high. Imagine the people living in mud brick houses. Few have the basic necessities of running water, electricity, and toilets. There, this is considered well off. Imagine children working hard - most of the shepherds and herders being little boys. Imagine almost getting run over by a renegade cow being chased by a shepherd boy. Imagine the weather being super hot and humid, and being bit by mosquitoes a lot, especially on the feet. Imagine it’s the rainy season, so the once dry barren fields are covered in green. Imagine the soil of the unpaved roads red with iron, and the people commuting on motorbikes, but only if they can afford the US $500 for them. You can’t find a grocery store, only makeshift booths in an outdoor marketplace. Imagine people speaking to you in French, but you’re not in France. This is Mali.

by: Lola Ajigbotafe