If you want to see me squirm uncomfortably, put the words ‘evangelism’ and ‘Africa’ in the same sentence. There have been several moments when I’ve been sitting in some mzungu hangout, eavesdropping on the cringe-worthy conversations of Southern Baptists on missions to Uganda. Now, I do consider myself a Christian, it’s just that I’m kind of afraid of church and mostly suspicious of other Christians (R.E.M.’s ‘Losing My Religion’ is something of a theme song for me). You know, the whole thing about the shoe-maker’s children going without shoes. Anywho, when I hear about some of the more…er…ethnocentric interpretations of Christianity, I try to take a deep breath and remember that Jesus loves vapid idiots too. My parents raised me all compassionate-like. And to shy away from judgmentalism at all junctures (*cough*).
The fact remains, however, that spirituality is ubiquitous here, and it takes many forms – from animism to ancestor worship to every denomination of Christianity and Islam. Even if I find some of it kind of scary or obnoxious (like the all-night hymn sings across the street from my house), it is refreshing to be somewhere where people at least talk about spirituality and aren’t afraid of it. Especially coming from Vancouver, I’m pretty sure over the last year I’ve had a million times more conversations about lattes than existentialism. I’m not saying we should be praying in public schools and getting slapped around by nuns again or any bullshit like that, but I’m of the opinion that instead of diversifying our spiritual education and being aware of other people’s beliefs, we’ve just chosen total ignorance of all faiths instead. Whereas in Uganda, I recently saw a young man wearing a t-shirt that loudly proclaimed: “Jesus Basketball!” I coveted it because I’m a sinner.
But I’m rambling! There was a point to this post, a Ugandan point! I had an interview with a survivor of the Barlonyo massacre, and when I asked him at the end if he had any questions for me, he very shyly said, “you know, I’m not a material person, but my heart tells me to ask you this because you look like a missionary [uh-oh! sang Letha’s brain]. The only thing we have to sustain us here is our prayers. I am a religious leader, but I have no Bible. Could you bring me a Bible and a hymn book in Langi [the local Luo dialect]?”
My first thought, I admit, was “how am I going to get a Bible to this guy without looking like some sort of moron in front of any passersby?” It’s not unusual to be asked for things here (especially if you look like me), and a lot of time has to be spent ‘managing expectations.’ I do what I can, but the sheer numbers of needy is just overwhelming. [Incidentally, I saw a picture of this man a couple days later when we were going over some archive photos taken the morning after the massacre, and I saw him standing amidst the bodies, digging shallow graves in the exact same tattered t-shirt and pants that I interviewed him in four years later.] But I decided that I really, really wanted to fulfill this wish, and I was so anxious to do so that I annoyingly asked the rest of the team (about once every five minutes) to remember to help me find a book store in Lira.
So I got some help in town and went and bought him a Langi ‘baibul’ and prayer/hymn book. When I brought it to him, he was so moved that my frozen-chosen (Presbyterian) heart stirred from its dark depths. He seemed like such a gentle soul, and with tears in his eyes he kept grabbing my hand and with much effort saying “God bless you,” repeatedly in English. This whole encounter was so sincere that it blew away any reservations I would have ever had about being a white person giving out a Bible in rural East Africa. But he asked for them with such humility and hope that I felt compelled to bring them. It was a reminder that while people need their food rations, their soul food is what keeps them together, especially here.
The fact remains, however, that spirituality is ubiquitous here, and it takes many forms – from animism to ancestor worship to every denomination of Christianity and Islam. Even if I find some of it kind of scary or obnoxious (like the all-night hymn sings across the street from my house), it is refreshing to be somewhere where people at least talk about spirituality and aren’t afraid of it. Especially coming from Vancouver, I’m pretty sure over the last year I’ve had a million times more conversations about lattes than existentialism. I’m not saying we should be praying in public schools and getting slapped around by nuns again or any bullshit like that, but I’m of the opinion that instead of diversifying our spiritual education and being aware of other people’s beliefs, we’ve just chosen total ignorance of all faiths instead. Whereas in Uganda, I recently saw a young man wearing a t-shirt that loudly proclaimed: “Jesus Basketball!” I coveted it because I’m a sinner.
But I’m rambling! There was a point to this post, a Ugandan point! I had an interview with a survivor of the Barlonyo massacre, and when I asked him at the end if he had any questions for me, he very shyly said, “you know, I’m not a material person, but my heart tells me to ask you this because you look like a missionary [uh-oh! sang Letha’s brain]. The only thing we have to sustain us here is our prayers. I am a religious leader, but I have no Bible. Could you bring me a Bible and a hymn book in Langi [the local Luo dialect]?”
My first thought, I admit, was “how am I going to get a Bible to this guy without looking like some sort of moron in front of any passersby?” It’s not unusual to be asked for things here (especially if you look like me), and a lot of time has to be spent ‘managing expectations.’ I do what I can, but the sheer numbers of needy is just overwhelming. [Incidentally, I saw a picture of this man a couple days later when we were going over some archive photos taken the morning after the massacre, and I saw him standing amidst the bodies, digging shallow graves in the exact same tattered t-shirt and pants that I interviewed him in four years later.] But I decided that I really, really wanted to fulfill this wish, and I was so anxious to do so that I annoyingly asked the rest of the team (about once every five minutes) to remember to help me find a book store in Lira.
So I got some help in town and went and bought him a Langi ‘baibul’ and prayer/hymn book. When I brought it to him, he was so moved that my frozen-chosen (Presbyterian) heart stirred from its dark depths. He seemed like such a gentle soul, and with tears in his eyes he kept grabbing my hand and with much effort saying “God bless you,” repeatedly in English. This whole encounter was so sincere that it blew away any reservations I would have ever had about being a white person giving out a Bible in rural East Africa. But he asked for them with such humility and hope that I felt compelled to bring them. It was a reminder that while people need their food rations, their soul food is what keeps them together, especially here.
1 comment:
Nice one, lovey.
But what about my latte?
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