One Door Closes and Another Opens

Dear Friends,

It seems that the MalawiHart experience is done for now. Thank you for reading and following my experience in Malawi. My comments will now be more about the situation in Malawi and less of a personal reflection. Please feel free to follow them on my new blog. Thanks for reading.

Micah

More Arrests

I did a radio interview to call attention to the unjustifiable, street-level arrests that followed my deportation. It is a wonderful thing to live in a free country. Throughout history and even in today's world, it is a rare blessing. The freedom I thought was normal is actually the rare exception. There are things like rich and varied food, complete medical care, and world class education that a poor government cannot yet provide for all its people. Other things, like a free press, the ability to speak your mind, and the right not to be detained without charge and to know the charge on which you are detained are things that any good government can immediately provide. In short, not every government can provide all that their people need, but any government can and should stop abusing its citizens.

Deported

So it would seem that I have been "exposed" which is an odd thing since I was never hiding.

It would seem that I have used "unpopular ways" to raise funds which is odd because being unpopular is not a very good way to raise funds.

A government minister has deemed me to be a threat to "public safety and order" which is odd because I have committed no offense against anyone.

I have been sent away from a country I have grown to love and returned to a country I have always loved. And now I must say that I hope Malawi will one day be blessed with leadership that does not use the police force to intimidate those who advocate other policies. I pray for the day when the people of Malawi will be blessed with the freedom and safety I have returned to in the U.S.

As I was being rushed around from one police office to the next, it occurred to me that perhaps Mr. Nyondo should add a section about freeing the police from political influence to the government organization portion of his policies.

But for those who have expressed concern, I'm fine. I have "toured" the Lilongwe jail, and been given an up-close demonstration of how the police work from the junior officers to some of the most senior levels. Certain of them were very professional and others demonstrated petty corruption (taking money from my wallet) and brazen disregard for the law (seizing my computer without a warrant). They have given me a more thorough insight into both the ugliness and the potential of their legal system than I could have gained in any other way.

To those who have treated me well, thank you. To the others, you are forgiven, but I pray that the time will soon come when you are no longer able to oppress those who are vulnerable.

When Others are not so Blessed II

Last week I asked the question of how we are to live as rich, full people in a poor, hungry world. If I really wanted to hear what you think I probably should have made the wildly outrageous claim that every rich person should give away all his money and then I would have had the privilege of hearing your thoughts as you corrected my error. But I didn't do that, so I still don't know what you think.

Last week I'm afraid I came dangerously close to holding myself up as someone who helps the poor. I'm not. Once in a while I give a beggar some food. But I don't know how to really help these people. Maybe I'll learn. But my theory is that, until then, I will use my time and energy to help someone who knows how to help them. Maybe last week's question was too personal or maybe no one else has a good answer either. I've heard a lot of guilt-tripping, a lot of "somebody do something" sermons, and a lot of "support me" mission speeches. Some of those things may be okay, but they really never quite answered the question in a way I can understand.

Like I said last week, I really don't have a solid, logically consistent answer to the question. But I do have a few convictions that help me think about it:

1. It is very clear from the Bible that God cares enormously for the poor, the widows, and the orphans and that a Godly person will care for them as well. This includes tangibly meeting their needs and defending them from those who exploit them.

2. I firmly believe that we are not called to guilt and that permanently living with guilt about these things is not good or right. God does not ask us to do more than He gives us the strength or ability to joyfully do. But sometimes He does give us the strength and ability to do way more than we have the guts to try.

3. God gives us good blessings and He wants us to thank Him for them and enjoy them even if He has not given the same blessings to someone else.

4. God wants us to use the blessings He has given us to bless others.

5. How God works with other people is often beyond what we are able to understand.

6. Love will always cost us something and we are called to deny ourselves to follow Him.

But I really don't like lists of "principles to live by". Let me try to get at this another way.

When I was a young child, there were highlights to my life. I still remember them. They were the times my dad would take us swimming in the creek with a tractor-tire inner tube, the times my mom would take us swimming at the public pool in town, the times my parents or grandparents took us out to eat at "El Vaquero" -- the height of fine dining in my young life --, the times the McCloy family came over for dinner and games, and when I got money for my birthday. I still remember the first time my Granddad gave me $50. It was a fabulous amount of wealth to me and more than I ever really thought I'd have. I enjoyed the power and possibilities more than I enjoyed actually spending it. I weighed my options for months after that. And I remember being overwhelmed by my riches all over again when I realized that I could buy a digital watch with a light and a stop-watch for $20 and still have more than half of the money left. It was a glorious moment. I really don't remember what I did with the other $30 except for facing the sobering reality that $2 of it went for sales tax on the watch. That's when I realized that, with large purchases, the tax adds up.

I say all this because there's not much that can give me that childhood thrill anymore. I may have experienced some version of it when I got a scholarship to college, got to study abroad, and first fulfilled my dream of working at the White House. But it's not the same. The only time I really get that birthday money thrill is when I have set aside money to give away to someone who needs it. It's that same feeling that I don't know what I'm going to do with it, but whatever it is will be wonderful. The money can just sit there in all its glory until I find that perfect thing. And then, I can spend it -- carefully to make sure I get my money's worth -- but freely because it is there to spend.

But even more than money there is time and talent. Each person gets an allotment of personal time and abilities. It's a thrill that rivals my birthday money when I realize that I have a unique mind and personality and that I have 24 hours a day to manage and refine these things so that I can be a blessing and so that I can give my Creator the joy of seeing me live out what He created me to be. I get to continually roam this world of possibilities looking to see where I can grow my mind and soul and where I can spend this bit of time, ability, and money that I have been given. Someone may look on the child's-birthday-money high I get out of this little adventure and smile like the adults who watched me spend my $50. And that's okay. As a slightly jaded adult, this is the closest I get to experiencing the sheer joy of a child with a fabulous wad of money in his pocket. I'm not about to give it up just because someone out there has a bigger wad of money. Neither am I going to give it up because someone out there finds his petty $50 to be boring and not worth the excitement.

When Others are not so Blessed

So if you are willing, I'd like to know your thoughts on something. How should we should respond as affluent people in a world of poverty? (This blog does have a comments section after all.) I've never heard a satisfactory answer to this question and it's nagged at me for some time. It's not the kind of nagging that comes with much guilt but the kind that comes from having to live the answer to a question you don't know the answer to.

This question seems more stark since I've been in Africa but I'm not sure nearness or distance should change the answer. We all live out an answer in practice even if we don't have one in theory. Right now, I live in a third world country and I live a life somewhere between the world I came from and the general standard here. In the U.S. I drove a car, lived in a house with heat and a/c, washer and drier, microwave, and dishwasher and I ate out at mid-level restaurants pretty much when I wanted to. When I wanted to go somewhere, I bought an airline ticket and went.

In Malawi most people do not have their own vehicles, they live in thatched houses and cook over a fire. They don't eat much protein and sometimes don't eat much at all. When they do have enough to eat, it is a very monotonous diet. It's a small country but most people -- even in the middle class -- have never traveled to the outside.

In Malawi, I ride a motorcycle and live in a solid house with a refrigerator (a recent addition) and a hotplate. There are electric lights too and clean running water but no hot water. I eat all the protein my body wants but don't have nearly the variety of food I used to eat. I wash my clothes in a tub by hand and hang them out in the sun to dry. After five months of trying and waiting, I'm due to move into a more spacious house with screens (rat-proof and mosquito-resistant) on April 1st. It will have hot water too. I'm really looking forward to that.

So those are the facts of what I have done. On the one hand, I live a very comfortable life here. I look out for myself. I stay comfortable, clean, and well-fed. And I do it all without having to work very hard. This is way beyond what most Malawians will ever have. On the other hand, I could have a lot more if I hung onto my old job, moved up the ladder, and spent it all on myself. For the moment, I'm caught somewhere in the tension between the fabulous world of American luxury and the dire world of African poverty.

I haven't done it much, but today I did the American luxury thing. I drove to the lake with my roommate Dominic. We swam, ate a good meal, drank pop, read, walked on the beech, and rested. We did what tourists do. We packed as if we were driving through a harsh desert, making sure we had everything we'd need to get from this side to the other without having to stop. Then we got on the motorcycle in our comfortable suburban neighborhood and drove through a picturesque country full of the tell-tale signs of poverty and suffering until we reached the resort. Along the way we dodged goats; drove past hundreds of children wearing dirty, ragged clothes; saw picturesque women struggling under balanced loads of wood, water, and food; and men pushing colossal loads up hill on their bicycles then careening down the other side. We drove past bellies bloated from malnutrition and parasites. We just whisked past all the suffering on our way from one pleasant place to another. Going there for our own pleasure.

It is the choice I made. And since it is the best I know, I really don't feel guilty at all. I have been stressed and stir-crazy. I haven't gone outside Lilongwe in three weeks. There is a beautiful lake I haven't seen, so I went. It was a great day.

I think that how we should live as rich people in a world of poverty is an important question. And I don't think there is an obvious answer. As a matter of fact, most of the answers I have heard have some obvious problems. So I'd like to ask, if you're willing to share, what answer do you live in your own life? Are you comfortable with your answer? Do you feel guilty about it? Is there an answer you could live without feeling guilty?

I have a few ideas that inform my choices and I'll share them next week. But I would really like to hear what you think in the mean while.

Thanks a bunch.

Rest

I have worked every day since March 5
Long days
Correspondence, pictures, moving houses, laundry, taking dictation, planning, writing
obsessing over edits, and staying up late to work on the website with friends in the U.S.
Late nights with a rat just out of reach in my kitchen
A dragon fly slobbering around the light
making weird shadows
and mosquitoes that want to eat my feet
The gecko ate a cockroach
It was a fight
and he won
I like my work but even good work wears until you forget that it is good

Today it all waited.
It was the wildlife preserve
where animals are in “enclosures” not “cages”
(Enclosures that look a lot like cages)
A crocodile, a python, a lot of monkeys, and two crows with broken wings
A river I would like to canoe
and lush green paths where you can walk slow and not care
Friends and a playhouse meant for kids
Jazz music afterwards with something to drink

There are a thousand things I could have done
A thousand things I “should have” done
And a thousand things it is good I have not done
Because it is good to rest

Prepared to Fail? II

This week I spoke again with the "good man" from last week's blog entry. He has lived most of his life as a missionary in Africa so I asked him what he sees as Africa's future. How will Africa break it's cycles of oppression and poverty? He really didn't have much of an answer except to say that he has hope that it will happen. He told me a bit of the history and then he said something funny; he said that he tells newcomers not to talk too much to the old guys because he doesn't want them to be discouraged. It was a gentle way of saying that he was telling me discouraging things but didn't want me to be discouraged. He thought I would fail but still wanted me to try. He is hopeful but the facts don't seem to support that hope. His hope has been forced into a deep patience that almost threatens to overwhelm it and yet this kind of patience is the only way for hope to survive decades of discouragement. It is hope buried and stifled under infinite patience like a man hiding under the cold snow to stay warm.

Hope long delayed is a strange thing. I look with admiration on those who have led successful fights for freedom. I know what to make of them. They fit my belief that good men should stand up and that God will bless their efforts to protect the vulnerable and the oppressed. But I don't know what to do with the centuries that preceded these people -- centuries in which the oppressed were not rescued. Centuries in which people lived and died with hope turned to a despair that is more bitter because it comes from crushed hope. I may not belong those who, in the words of Martin Luther King Jr., "have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant." But I do resonate with King's impatience toward those who claim to agree with his cause but say the time is not right. Those who pretend that time will heal injustice if we just wait. How can I learn to act on the conviction that now is the time for righteousness and justice knowing that righteousness may not win this battle? Righteousness may not win in my lifetime. This has been the case in the lives of many better men.

I also share MLK's frustration with the sort of person "who is more devoted to 'order' than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: 'I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods . . . '; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a 'more convenient season.' Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection."

That is why I am sometimes offended at the admiration Malawi gets for being a "peaceful," "non-violent" country. Oppression, abuse, and injustice are rife. Rape, taking widows' property, rulers who loot the country's resources for their own benefit, exploiting habitually passive, powerless people. The praise comes from those who prefer "a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice."

So it is also with those who prefer to get along with the leaders of Saudi Arabia, China, Russia, Iran, Egypt, Libya, Palestine, Israel, Zimbabwe, Cuba, Kenya . . . fearing to disturb the status quo in favor of a "positive peace which is the presence of justice." Choosing to stay on the side of the powerful and leaving the poor with no advocate. When good people become infinitely patient with the plight of the poor, it is the poor who suffer. They really suffer.

If you have time to read the rest of MLK's Letter From a Birmingham Jail I think you will find it to be time well spent. We could stand to have many more people like that in the world.

Prepared to Fail?

I spoke to a good man today. He is Canadian but has lived most of his life in Africa. He annoyed me a little but that’s because he is a good man. I am in Africa doing the ultimate young idealistic thing. When the man asked what I do, in stead of giving my vague, I-don’t-want-you-think-I’m-a-freak answer, I told him. He asked how long I have been here then nodded knowingly and gently tried to prepare me for failure. He explained that politics is poison in Africa and told of his experiences in Uganda and Kenya. The implication was, of course, that any sensible person would avoid poison and that since politics (mostly) always has been poison in Africa, it always will be and so it is best left alone. It was an imminently sensible thing to say. It was based on experience much deeper than mine and came from what is probably a much wiser person that me. Had I been in his shoes, I probably would have said the same.

You see, seasoned missionaries and aid workers “know the type.” They’re young, they’re idealistic, many of them are talented, and they want to save the world. They know the type because that’s who they were 20, 30, and 40 years ago and they look with concern on people like me because it has been a journey of heart-break and disappointment. Many have tried and the ones who claim success are only those who have taken the approach of blessing a little corner of the world, the ones who have learned not to save the world, not to save Africa, not to save Malawi, not to save a city, not to save a village, but to save a person and then venture to influence a village.

Almost to a person, everyone who has tried to change the system has failed. They’ve tried and failed for decades, hundreds and thousands of people have tried and failed. They’ve tried through force, persuasion, money, industry, and faith – and they have failed. Individuals have changed and gotten better and systems have changed but they have not gotten better. And because these people have tried and failed, they think it cannot be done. They tell me how it is in Africa, they believe it will never change, and history is on their side.

I’m tempted to resent people who try to prepare me for the "inevitable" failure. But I know it comes from concern and evidence. They do it because they care about me, because they see me as they were and they’ve been hurt. And I persist like the child who jumps off the roof onto the trampoline after being told that he’s going to hurt himself. Everyone who does it hurts himself. I did it and I hurt myself. And they cringe like an adult who sees a child who is determined to hurt himself and cannot learn from others’ hard knocks.

They prepare me to fail because they care, and yet, I am not prepared to fail. Because to learn the lesson they are trying to teach is the surest way to fail. And so long as there is a five percent chance of success I will try for it as if I am sure to win and if 19 more people will come behind me with the same attitude the odds are that one of us will win and the efforts of 20 young idealists will have changed the world.

Blessed to Receive

I am not good at receiving gifts. But I am learning. I have had a lot of practice in the past two weeks and it has been refreshing. I know that it is more blessed to give than to receive, that I should love my neighbor as myself, and that money can’t make you happy. But I also know that it can be a wonderful blessing to receive, that I should love myself, and that money is also a blessing.

In the past two weeks I have spent nights in Washington, DC; Raleigh, NC; Paris, TX; Gruver, TX; Greeley, CO; and Alexandria, VA. And I have not spent a cent for housing. I stayed with a generous ministry in Washington, at the Marriott in Raleigh (paid for by someone who supports my boss), with my great aunt in Paris, with my parents in Gruver, with my brother in Greeley, and with my former roommate Evan and his wife in Alexandria. My friends and family have lent me cars and given me rides from NC to TX and then from TX to CO. They have fed me free meals and offered generous amounts of free technical advice and services for my work. My little brother even drove to CO to go skiing with me.

It could seem frivolous but there is something serene about being in the thin air where the chill wind comes over the mountain and no trees can grow, then turning to follow the wind as it sweeps over the snow and down the mountain.

I did something stupid though and tried to ski a black diamond slope that was very steep and shaped like a giant egg carton. It put my bum knee in such serious jeopardy that I minorly damaged it and walked the last bit in my ski boots. By the end I was so tired that I lost a ski when I was racing down a straight stretch. I went into a one-skied skid to slow down and then fell over the edge of the road I was on. I landed in a 5-foot snow drift. It was a serious struggle to get out since my efforts mostly pushed the snow down the mountain instead of pushing me up. It gave a good-natured laugh to my brother and one of medics who had clued into my distress and was following me down the mountain at a respectful distance. I'm glad no one had a camera but it was kind of funny when you get over your pride. The whole day was pure therapy – a gift from God.

I know it is more blessed to give than to receive, but I have no shame in saying it has been a profound blessing to receive as my loved ones wittingly and unwittingly took turns feeding the parts of me that were hungry.

I know that we are to love our neighbors as ourselves but I am also learning to love myself enough to be grateful and think it is worthwhile when someone goes out of his way and gratuitously blesses me.

I know that money can’t by happiness, but I freely admit that I relish and thank God for many expensive things that have refreshed me on this trip. Abundant, nutritious, convenient, food; hot showers; air travel; high speed internet; carpet; good cars and roads; clean air; beautiful landscaping; and thick, soft mattresses – I love these things. They take money, they’re a blessing, and many of my friends have never had them. I’m drinking them in and thanking God.

It’s a change for me because I was raised to pull my own weight and be a burden to no one. I learned to give and expect nothing in return and I prided myself on being independent. I fooled myself into thinking that my happiness was not affected by material things. I thought I was only supposed to give and I never learned the art of gracefully receiving. It made me uncomfortable when people did things for me and I somehow thought it was virtuous to decline or at least protest.

With God’s grace I will continue to give to others and I will pray that they are more gracious receivers than I have been. If they are, the gifts will be more of a blessing and both the giver and receiver more blessed.

It is better to give than to receive because giving is even better than a very good thing. Loving our neighbors as ourselves only means something when we love ourselves very much. And money cannot buy happiness but it can buy something that will bless those who have a need.

On Being Alone

It is strange to be alone
A life and experience that others do not know
Loneliness is a hunger
And hunger a part of life
A good part of life
For from hunger we know satisfaction

But there is a hunger that goes beyond
A bitter hunger
The body grows desperate and the soul to despair

When a soul is left to its joys and its sorrows unknown
Joys unexpressed
And distress turned upon itself
The timely word ungiven and unrecieved
The love that does not reach across the distance
Known but to itself
And the soul starts to die

It is good to be alone
To know the hunger that ends with satisfaction
And not in death

A Night of Daydreams

It is 4 a.m. and it has been a great evening.

I dreaded it. Late this afternoon I promised my boss that in the morning I would give him a draft of his for-publication, 9-page, mostly-bullet-points, strategic plan. It’s the sort of thing you’ll use for reference and it won’t get much attention from anyone unless they think you did a bad job. Then it will be relentlessly mocked and used as proof that you’re really an idiot who has no business trying to play with the big boys. It’s not an opportunity to win; the goal is not to lose. You merely hope to be ignored and if someone ventures a yawn, you bask in the attention – honored by this faint evidence that he actually read it.

So why the great evening? Well, it stirred sweet memories of late-night college papers – sweet memories of bitter experiences that were retrospectively satisfying. (The smug thought that this professor had no idea that I started writing the 18-page paper 12 hours before it was due at 9 a.m. If he’d known, he would have denied me an A out of principle.) And there is the mellow company of successive cups of tea and cheery IMs from my friends several time zones away. They are surprised to find me awake. Besides, even if all the ideas in that paper don’t inspire anyone else, they kind of get me cranked up. I will pay the prince of weariness in days to come but for now, it has been a very comfortable night.

In three or four hours I have to get up, submit the draft, and get my boss to seriously engage it since he will be publicly expected to follow through on everything I have written. Then I need to use it and some other materials to talk through and possibly write some less comprehensive and more catchy materials we will publish for broad consumption. Then I have to shoot some footage of my boss in action as he speaks to a group of chiefs then gives a speech. Then I need to pack for a 2.5-week trip that will take me half way around the world and back. I really should do a little work on the details of the trip too.

Yes, it’s been a comfortable evening of trying to describe the dream of Malawi's future. Thanks friends for keeping me company.

In Stead of a Post

My internet was out over the weekend so appologies for the delayed post. I lieu of a blog post this weekend, I have sent an email. Feel free to ask about it. Thanks.

micahsbox@gmail.com

Rain, a Motorcycle, and the Inauguration of Barack Obama

The weather has been treacherous the past week or two. It has been ambushing me on my motorcycle. And it has spent a lot of ammunition too. I called its bluff when it looked clear this morning and then it wasted several inches of rain while I sat smugly in my house. (If the roof over my kitchen didn’t leak I would have been more smug.)

Then it cleared off, the sun came out, I looked at the withered rain clouds, and knew I had my chance. I put on the shoes that didn’t get soaked in yesterday’s ambush and merrily rode to the store enjoying the rush of rain-freshened air. An hour at the store then I went and checked the last two of my six motorcycle repairs off the list. I grabbed some lunch at the Baptist center nearby.

But then I saw the problem. The rain had been creeping up behind the store and the Baptist building. And the pavement was already wet when I finished lunch. But it was only light rain and my house was away from the storm. So I put on my rain suit, mounted the bike, and smirked to think that the rain had not managed to block my retreat.

But I had not judged well and, as I raced home, it closed in from the side. I was exposed with nowhere to go and it came with wind too. I was hurrying but it came in torrents. The wind currents swirled the water on the pavement in front of me and it made me think new thoughts. Can enough wind blow a motorcycle over? What would happen if a motorcycle hydroplaned? Why did that bus have to drive through that mud puddle just now and splash it’s contents all over me? At least there’s plenty of clean rain to wash the mud off my visor. I should have gotten gloves because raindrops hurt when they hit your knuckles. This elastic doesn’t really seal around my wrists and there are pools of water in my sleeves. How do you close the “air” vents on this helmet? How was I supposed to see that pothole underwater? I hope it doesn’t rain again tomorrow because now I have to choose between wearing wet shoes and nice shoes and I don’t want to get my nice shoes wet.

In case you are wondering, I didn’t hydroplane or get blown off the road. But this time the ammunition wasn’t wasted. I got wet. And about the time I got home, the rain settled down to a placid little sprinkle. Its work was done for the day.

Malawians actually label and number their potholes, presumably for repair. I wonder if I should get a copy of their pothole map and memorize it before next time it rains.

You see, the motorcycle-rain complex is a significant part of my life, and it was also part of Barack Obama’s inauguration. I watched the inauguration at the U.S. embassy watch party which was probably considerably more comfortable than actually being there. You stood there at a reception while people kept walking past trying to give beer, wine, soft drinks, and dainty finger food. Some TV screens were playing CNN. And, of course, there was the upper that the new president is black and the downer that he has really bad policies.

I almost didn't go because of the rain. But I knew it could be my best opportunity to meet the ambassador. Besides, I’m always afraid history won’t quite work if I’m not there. So, while all these dignitaries were arriving in chauffeured cars, I drove up dripping with grocery bags tied over my shoes to keep them dry. Then I walked up to the porch area where all the formal, starched people were filing in and proceeded to pull off my (rain) pants and take the muddy, dripping bags off my shoes. For some reason I've always kind of enjoyed being an ordinary fellow in uppity crowds. It was my favorite part.

You see, in Washington, DC the U.S. Ambassador to Malawi hardly ranks in the hierarchy of things. But in Lilongwe, he’s one of the most important dignitaries. (Same size fish, different size pond.) The Chinese ambassador was also there working the crowd. So just in case all those starched people were offended by this muddy Texan, I walked up to the ambassador, introduced myself and chatted about a mutual acquaintance.

I’m not much of a socialite and neither am I a party-crasher, but I am a bit of a contrarian and I rather enjoyed the evening.

But I still wish the rain would cut me some slack.

Here's the bike. My boss's son is modeling the helmet.

From Motorcycle

Malawi, the Bible, and the West

It struck me some time back that the Bible doesn’t take as much translation to make sense in Malawian culture. In my experience, people who read and explain the Bible need to spend a good bit of time trying to get inside the ancient audiences’ heads to recapture the original impact of a particular set of words. And the more your culture is different from the ancient culture, the more you have to study and use your imagination to get it.

This leads to my point. The culture here in modern-day Malawi seems to be more similar to the Palestine of Joshua, David, Nehemiah, and Jesus than is modern-day America. It first struck me when I was listening to someone use examples from Kings and Chronicles to illustrate good leadership. He was speaking to an audience of chiefs and somehow I think all those stories of good and bad rulers made a lot of sense to them. And it wasn’t because they went through the intellectual gymnastics to put themselves in an ancient culture’s shoes. It is because they are a lot like the guys in that ancient culture.

I’ve always thought I have a little more connection to the agricultural illustrations in the Bible since I grew up in a family that lived by farming. This has actually been a minor point of pride with me because I think most people only have an intellectual understanding of a great harvest with few laborers to harvest it. And they don’t quite grasp the significance of a seed that must die before it can become a new life. I think it is legitimate for me to claim a deeper understanding of these things since I have measured the price of a good crop in sweat, lost sleep, bruised knuckles, and patience.

But if I can make this claim, most of the people here can make it ten times over. And there is also much more they have in common with the Ancient Culture. Here are a few things I have seen:

Irregular or Insufficient Rain Bringing Famine. This is a problem now because last years’ rains were not good.

Salt is a treasure. We read about Christians being like salt in the world and we have to realize that this was not said in our context where the cost of salt is about the same as sand. It was in a place where people knew that salt is a treasure that gives life to an otherwise bleak diet. Here, I have seen people and even Chiefs clinging, begging, and cheating to get salt. Try eating unsalted bread or pancakes sometime and you will see why.

Witchcraft and even Child Sacrifice. There are the sections of town where you get car parts or food and there is the place you go for witches. You can go through the capital city and see all the witch-doctors’ booths with their strange concoctions on display. I have even heard people tell us their children cannot walk to school because they will be caught by the witches and killed so their parts can be used in certain rituals. I do not know how pervasive this is.

Beggars – the Blind and the Lame. Perhaps half the beggars here keep a stark physical deformity on display -- blindness, a leg that is three times the normal size, a foot that is doubled around backwards or missing altogether . . . You start to recognize them after a while. Even in a large city the same people turn up over and over again in different places, always asking for money. They don’t have many prostheses. The beggars remind me of the stories in the gospels and Acts.

Corrupt Tax Collectors. The way to make money here is to go into government. Enough said.

Polygamy – Especially with Rulers. Chiefs often have many women and even many wives. They are expected to. There is a dark and horrible belief that, if a man sleeps with a virgin, he will be cured of AIDS. And, as a point of hospitality, a man may offer his young wife to an overnight guest. It is only considered rape if the man did not offer her. This is reminiscent of some of the darker stories in the Old Testament.

Masters and Servants. Malawi generally does not have slavery in the sense of one person owning another. But it does have big households with many people hired to do everything – cleaning, cooking, gardening, laundry, ironing, shoe-polishing, driving, guarding . . . Nice houses are built with servants’ quarters. Servants are often paid less than $50 per month and they treat their employers like masters. They’re expected to.

“Possessed” People. I have heard it said that the main difference between rich people and poor people is that the poor people do not have the luxury of hiding their problems. I think there is some truth to this. In our society people’s mental troubles are generally hidden from view. They are medicated and counseled, and for the people and times where this is not enough, they are kept in a place out of sight until it is resolved.

Here, people with mental troubles here are presumed to be bewitched. They live untreated and in full view. Those close to them will have to choose between fear and retaliation toward the one who is thought to have bewitched them.

Again, I don’t mean this as a critical analysis of either system but as an observation of how this one might be closer to what we find in Biblical times.

Outside Oppression. Malawi was dominated by the British for nearly 100 years. The British knew how to make things run in some ways, but they were still an occupier. And the people resented it. It deprived them of the dignity of being equals. I think this is something in common with first-century Jews in the Roman Empire.

I had been thinking of all these things, then a couple of mornings ago, I sat down to read the Old Testament book of Ezra. Ezra was angry about how the people were living so he gave three days notice for all the men to assemble in one place. He said that anyone who did not come would have his property seized. I don’t know for sure how these Malawian Chiefs call a council and get such good attendance but I’m guessing they use some of the same tactics. When they had all gathered, Ezra told the people in very definite terms to mend their ways. And they responded, “You are right! We must do as you say. But there are many people here and it is the rainy season; so we cannot stand outside. Besides, this matter cannot be taken care of in a day or two, because we have sinned greatly in this thing. Let our officials act for the whole assembly” (Ezra 10:12-14, NIV). Somehow I could almost see this very scene – albeit with different details – being played out in a Malawian village.

Really, I think modern-day Malawi (outside the cities) is probably more like the Ancient Culture than it is modern-day America. Which leads me to another impression I have had: going to Malawi is a lot like time-traveling. It is going from a post-industrial to a pre-industrial world. I know a lot of people who have wistfully wondered what it would be like to go back in time to medieval Europe. Well, you can’t do that. But you can go to another place in the world where people are just as different and just as intriguing. It’s not medieval Europe by any stretch but it is probably more like that than your suburban neighborhood.

And yes, I am arguing that you should come see me. When you think about it, this modern world allows you to walk into a pressurized metal tube then walk out haggard and bleary-eyed two days later into a strange and wonderful iron-age world. Imagine putting the Bibles’ cultures and medieval Europe into a blender, pouring Africa sauce over it, and placing it in one of the world’s most beautiful climates. Visiting is an incredible experience – the sort of thing we’d give our firstborn to do if it wasn’t so accessible.

Now, in writing this, I have committed a few crimes. The greatest of these is to have conflated all the Biblical cultures into one. There are many different cultures over time in the Bible and, at any given time, the Bible tells of several different cultures interacting with each other. And of course Malawi is not uniform either; any given place in Malawi is not really like any given place in the Bible. But there are striking parallels that could very well make understanding the Bible more natural for Malawians than it is for most Western Christians. In this, I think they have an intuitive insight that we never will.

These are the witch doctors' booths in Lilongwe.


These are the children who, we are told, cannot go to school for fear of being killed by witches.

Athiest -- Africa Needs God

This blog is generally not for posting outside material, but this is too insightful and spot-on not to post. Hope you have time to read it.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article5400568.ece

Blessed

Some people asked me if I had “reverse culture shock” on my trip back to the U.S. for Christmas. I didn’t. But I did have “season shock.” The weather is very cheery here in the summer, as long as you have a little rain-tolerance. But I spent three days in DC, two in Ohio and the only sunshine I saw was out the window of an airplane and from my friends who overwhelmed me by being very happy to see me.

I don’t know if it is because I’m secure or insecure, but I spend very little time thinking about whether other people actually, really, truly love me. I just don’t spend much time assuming either that they do or they don’t. So when it was abundantly obvious that several people really missed me and were happy to see me back, I was overwhelmed and very humbled. Even my “professional colleagues” let on like it was great to see me.

And then, of course, there’s the family. I have a new nephew names Sebastian so I had to get home and make up for lost time in establishing myself as a presence in his life. And my sister is recently engaged so I had to put my retroactive brother’s-seal-of-approval on that. Matt is cool and smart. He’s so cool and smart that my only fear is that I will have to forever give up my aspiration to be the coolest, smartest brother in the family (a heretofore undeclared hope that I have secretly harbored).

You may have gathered that I wasn’t exactly the center of attention at my family’s Christmas celebration. But then, with my family, it’s not that important. All jesting aside, my family is big and it’s crowded when we’re all home, but somehow they still have time for everyone. I had special time with my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and especially my parents, brothers, and sisters. (The nephew category contains insufficient data for reliable evaluation.)

My family and friends love me, they push me toward what is good and they support my decision to go to Malawi, but they don’t try to control me.

If you’ve read this far, you may be reaching the conclusion that has been dawning on me over the past few months – I am the most blessed person I know. And I can’t take any credit for it. If anyone wants to dispute that title, be my guest; I would be thrilled to share it. I have been afraid to say so in so many words for fear that something would happen and it would no longer be true.

So what’s my secret? I try to follow God and His ways but that effort is probably more often pathetic than heroic. I try to love my friends and family but without some serious doses of grace and forgiveness they would all have written me off a long time ago.

My secret is actually a troubling one – life isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I am the most blessed person I know. I haven’t earned it and better people than me can’t say it. It is a strange thing, but when I struggle with the fact that life isn’t fair, it is usually because I have it so much better than I should. And when I think of my blessings I know that since I have not earned them it is beyond my control to keep them.

It may not always be that I am the most blessed person I know. But for now it is. And I’m trying to be thankful.

The Trip

One of the great things about travel is that things happen and then you have time to think. Most times in life there is nothing happening and too much time to think or there is too much happening and no time to think about it. Travel interrupts our emotional and mental habits through unusual states of exhaustion, rest, loneliness, new acquaintances, and new experiences. And it enforces periods of thought between events as we move from one place to another.

Well, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean with my altered emotional/mental state and plenty of time to think, it struck me that I am doing something crazy and only just now realized it. I was trying to remember why I, of all people, was on that plane flying across the Atlantic. And the only reasons I could think of were ridiculous to the point of insanity. I don't know anyone who's done this and I don't know anyone who thought it was a good idea until I sort of sold them on it. And the only ones who think it is a good idea are the people I would describe (affectionately) as those who are crazy enough to trust my judgment and hope for something that has never really happened before – honest, clean, just African government. What we are doing here is probably vaguely akin to going outside at night and flailing in the sky with a ladle trying to scoop up a dipper full of moon dust. It's just not supposed to be possible. And if there is a person who could do it, that person would look very different from me.

These thoughts were tumbling around my head as I drifted past Spain, over France, into Rome, and through various stages of consciousness. I woke up somewhere near Sudan, stared out the window in the dawn twilight and realized a few things. 1) Being crazy is scary but also kind of fun. 2) There is a really big desert in Africa and, even when you are flying fast, it takes a long time to get across. 3) There is a really big river that runs plumb through the really big desert. This is a strange thing – so strange that one guy died arguing about where it came from and many others died trying to find out.

As a matter of fact, the river is so strange and people wanted to know where it came from so badly they sent this Scottish guy to sort it all out. He went over and walked around looking until he died – and he took a long time to die. People went over and walked around trying to find the Scottish guy. A lot of people died trying to find out if the Scottish guy died trying to find out where the big river came from. After the Scottish guy died, they took his heart out and buried it. Then they carried the rest of him 1500 miles to the sea. From there they took him by ship for a few thousand miles and buried what was left under the floor of this really old church in England. (In case you ever want to find it, his grave is in the nave.)

That big river in the big desert has caused a lot of trouble. But when I looked it was perfectly peaceful and just as strange as ever.

More practically though, my plane was late and the connecting flight only leaves once a day. That meant that, at 10:30 Saturday morning I was left alone for the day to roam the streets of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

Ethiopia's queen of Sheba once went to visit King Solomon to see his riches and hear his wisdom. She was really impressed. She gave him gifts and, according to lore, he left her with the makings of a crown-prince that carried his genes, establishing a Solomonic dynasty in Ethiopia. And just to remind me about it, Ethiopian Airlines let me sign up for their "Sheba Miles" program so that I can someday get a free flight if I stay crazy and keep doing stuff like this.

Ethiopia claims to be where the first people lived and to be the only African nation that never fell under European control. It ranks just behind Cambodia for democratic government and is considered to be on a scale somewhere between a "flawed democracy" and an "authoritarian regime".

Ethiopia is poor. They have 78 million people living on a mountainous corner of the Big Desert. But the thing that struck me in my cursory observation is that there are shanty-towns scattered throughout the heart of the capital city. One of the main palaces has an over-crowded section of tiny, odd-shaped, tin-roofed shacks for its next-door neighbor. All the poor nations' capital cities I have seen or heard of are "sanitized" so that you have to go to their outskirts or even leave the area to find people living in dire poverty. Addis Ababa is the opposite and this gave me cause for a good deal of thought.

Okay, it wasn't precisely true when I said I was left "alone" in Addis. I was actually left in the same situation as a lively college student who was bound for Malawi to spend the winter mini-term doing AIDS education. We walked around together heroically staying awake and seeing a city we'd never really thought of seeing and, in my case, never really thought of at all. We sorted out the hotel's quirky elevator, discovered that the fire escape on the 10^th floor makes a great overlook, and sat at the roof-top restaurant listening to the "people noise" on the street and watching the rolling blackouts sweep the city below. We even got "swept" a couple of times.

Someone was supposed to meet me at the Lilongwe airport, but a tire had been slashed on the pickup and people don't repair tires on Sunday. So I sat there until some formerly-Rhodesian mzungus took pity on me and gave me a ride home. They even gave me some free advice on traveling by road through Zambia. When we got home, a new guard took a look at me and my escorts and refused to let us in. Several minutes went by while we got impatient and the guard took his time trying to find someone who could verify that I was safe. There's nothing quite like coming home after a 4-day journey and being faced with a brick wall, an electric fence, a stranger, and a locked gate. They finally let us in.

Who knew so much could happen on a simple trip from DC to Lilongwe?