On the 28th of February 2010 I was asked to give a speech at ‘Salt n Light’ about my experiences in Africa. The following is a transcript. Please note that this is a bit longer than most of my usual posts…
Good afternoon everybody. Before I begin I would just like to thank Joan Ikin for giving me the opportunity to speak today as well as each and every one of you for coming along to listen.
For those who might not know me, my name is Kevin Hawkins and for the last 16 months I have been on holidays. In fact tomorrow I begin university so it’s quite significant that I’m up here today giving you all a bit of an insight into my little hiatus from education.
I’d like to think that what I’ve experienced since I finished school warrants a more respectable word than just ‘holiday’. As much as I would have loved to have spend the last year and a bit relaxing in front of the TV, watching the cricket with a bowl of nachos in my lap that was not the case. In fact that was my daily routine for merely half of my break. The other 8 months took place in a little island off the coast of Madagascar called ‘Africa’. Now, rather than trying to explain what Africa is like I’ve pieced together a little video of some of the highlights of what many refer to as ‘The Dark Continent’.
Before I get into what I did in Africa, I’d like to touch on the reasons why I decided to go there. First of all, and the most practical reason, is that I wanted a change of scenery. I have to admit that I actually enjoyed school, but having done 12 years of it I was getting a little tired. So the obvious choice was to take a gap year and to go somewhere different, somewhere challenging, and somewhere completely out of my comfort zone. Africa ticked all the boxes, simply because I knew hardly anything about it. The Disney movie The Lion King was about the extent of my knowledge; other than that I perceived Africa as a land of poverty, disease and corruption.
If we go back in time a little further I also had religious motives to go overseas. I was at a Summer Under the Son youth camp, which for those of you who don’t know is a Christian conference run by the Church Missionary Society. We were having a worship session and singing ‘The ends of the earth’ and I remember coming across the lyrics ‘Jesus I believe in you and I would go to the ends of the earth for you’. For years I’d sung this line without thinking but on this occasion I was a little reluctant as I comprehended what I was about to sing. Would I really go to the ends of the earth for the sake of Jesus? By the end of the week I had an answer to that question. Whether it was God’s call or simply my own willpower I had decided that I wanted to serve the Lord overseas.
At the time I imagined this would be more of a long term goal that would be achieved in my late-30s or 40s but all of a sudden this opportunity for a gap year in Africa came about.
It was actually my brother who alerted me to Neville and Elspeth Carr, missionaries working in Dodoma, Tanzania, who were looking for volunteers. I spent my first month in Africa living and working alongside them. The next two months was spent as a tourist, allowing me the see the highlights of eastern and southern Africa. This was followed by a short volunteer stint at a fairly big church in northern Johannesburg, before I began my 4 months work as a teacher in rural South Africa.
From the perspective of a young tourist my month in Dodoma with the Carrs was an amazing experience and a fitting introduction to the continent. Despite being one of the nation’s capital cities Dodoma is not a very high profile place. A few government buildings and a fancy hotel are the only things that prevent the city from completely losing touch with Western culture.
Its bumpy dirt roads can only be handled by the most muscular four wheel drives, its street markets require customers to possess a sound understanding of Swahili and its water quality is so poor that filter systems, tanks and spring water are the most valuable commodities available. However, what the city lacks in infrastructure it makes up for in charm. The people are friendly and greet you everywhere you go. They have patience for overseas volunteers unfamiliar with the language and at the same time they regard these volunteers with reverence and great appreciation.
I was fortunate enough to have had the chance to explore the greater Dodoma region with an organisation called Carpenter’s Kids. These guys linked sponsor churches in the United States with rural village communities in Tanzania and as a result donations of clothes, soap and shoes were distributed to these poor villages. In spite of the fact that I had played no part in the organising process of this initiative the people in these villages humbled me with their generosity, hospitality and praise. Receiving a large meal from the host church was always a constant and on every occasion I was given the opportunity to introduce myself to the congregation. Language may have been a barrier, but the locals found ways around it. They interacted through acts of kindness, joyful singing and contagious smiles.
Personally I found my camera to be a fantastic tool for bridging the gap. Being swamped by a crowd of little kids all wanting to see themselves in a photo – for possibly the first time – is one of those unforgettable experiences. It’s amazing how something we consider so basic can brighten the days of so many people.
As you can expect these villages weren’t very well off. Their sewerage and hygiene systems were shocking, their crops were dying and undoubtedly many of them would have been suffering from various sicknesses. By Western definition these people were poverty-stricken and severely underprivileged. Nonetheless that wasn’t the impression I got. In spite of their shortcomings these individuals possessed many characteristics unseen in the much richer parts of the world. Not only were these people content with what they had, but they were happy. They were hopeful, grateful and more than willing to give. That’s not to say that they were flawless people, but certainly their behaviour can teach the citizens of developed countries a few important lessons.
My prime purpose for being in Dodoma was not to be a traveler, but to be a volunteer. From the office of Neville and Elspeth Carr at St John’s University of Tanzania, I worked as an assistant, doing all kinds of odd jobs in order to make life a little easier for them. Neville was – and still is – the Dean of the Education and Humanities faculty, meaning his daily responsibilities were often well in excess of his regular teaching lectures. Likewise Elspeth was flat out, preparing lectures for Theology. Furthermore they ran multiple bible studies each week and were often dealing one-to-one with students who had encountered hardship or were looking for faith.
On occasion I felt their stress but for the most part my responsibilities were pretty easy-going. On campus my main workload was word processing and doing runs to the photocopy office – a mosquito infested room run by two incompetent staff and one unreliable machine – however I would often find myself filling up the rest of the day with all kinds of jobs, from brochure folding, to stamping books in the library, to cooking, to filming. As a young person with a mind for adventure I could have potentially become bored very easily, however various people and activities helped the days go by.
Brandon – a volunteer from the States – was in a similar position to me and via daily meals at the super-cheap canteen and a shared ‘office’ we got to know each other quite well. I also worked quite closely with the Hovenhars, a couple from Geelong who were doing 3 months of lecturing in the Nursing Department, the Salamans – a British family that ran the choir that I became a part of, and a handful of local staff and students, some of whom were nice enough to invite me to their homes.
Before I elaborate on Christian mission perhaps I should clarify what the role of a missionary is. Some cynical individuals perceive missionaries as bible-bashers who have decided to take their craft to a more naïve culture, perhaps like door-to-door evangelists on a grander scale, but such an assessment is unjustifiably cruel and ignorant. Missionaries obviously have different roles in different contexts, however, in most cases their role is to facilitate the learning and understanding of the Christian message. Tanzania is an ideal example as the country is full of God-fearing Christians. Winning converts is evidently not the aim. Rather it is about helping the locals understand more about the Bible and encouraging them to develop a relationship with Jesus.
It’s often said that Christianity in Africa is a mile wide but an inch thick, which is a perfect illustration. Almost everybody seems to have a religious belief, and many consider Jesus to be their savour. They pray for hours, worship wholeheartedly and read the Bible without reservations, however a few negative patterns are evident.
Traditional religions are, by far, the biggest obstacle. There are cultural beliefs all over the continent that focus on ancestor worship, witchcraft and foreseeing the future. Rather than forsaking these elements of their culture many locals like to play a harmful game of mix and match, which results in contradictory hybrid beliefs. These people will pray to God one minute, and their great grandfather the next. Pluralism – another completely conflicting belief that proposes that all routes lead to the same place – is also a problem.
There was a student in Elspeth’s theology class, who had previously undergone years of Biblical training, who thought that the God of the Bible and the Koran were identical. He seemed mystified when Elspeth outlined to him what the central ideas of Christianity were.
You could certainly argue that such people are not Christians at all, but heretics, but you could also present a case that these individuals have got it right in their hearts, but not in their heads. It certainly adds an extra challenge for the missionaries but when you look at the challenges in Australia it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
In Australia it almost seems superfluous to believe in a God when ideas like consumerism and independence are so overwhelming. In contrast the people of Tanzania have next to nothing yet can see so clearly that there is some kind of greater being outside of this world.
I personally found it to be quite a powerful contradiction. Surely you would think that the first-world citizens would be more inclined to recognise and worship a loving God than the people of the developing world, people who struggle to maintain a living, let alone their life.
I have to admit that the high presence of Christianity was certainly comforting for me. When you’re halfway around the world and everybody is passionate about the same thing as you, that’s special. Even more so when they’re speaking in a different language. It brings to mind thoughts of Revelation 7 and the image of “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb”
Living and working with missionaries at a Christian university often saw me smothered by the heavy influence of Christianity. Ironically, the only thing that wasn’t Christian about Dodoma was the town church, which looked exactly like a mosque. To be fair, the mosque was also well-attended but maybe that was because it looked like a church.
Naturally some students and staff alike were inclined to believe that I was a missionary, however I was quick to dismiss their assumptions. As tempted as I was to soak up the glory of having such a title it wasn’t my glory to soak up. Rather than carrying those responsibilities myself my job was to relieve the Carrs of some of theirs. I have always had great respect for those who have the courage and dedication to commit themselves to overseas ministry, and having the opportunity to work alongside such people was a valuable experience. It helped me realize that being a missionary is about as big a commitment as you can get and it’s not for the faint hearted. Neville and Elspeth were often working non-stop and it’s because they are dedicated to their cause. Having such passion and persistence is a trait that not every average Joe has.
To be honest coming face-to-face with the struggles of missionaries firsthand did provide me with a few reality checks regarding my future plans. In saying that, though, I also observed that there are other avenues to serving the Lord. Here I was, a teenager with absolutely no qualifications and with little theological or Biblical training, and I was playing my part in the Christian cause. My impact might have been minimal but at least it was a step in the right direction.
The two months that followed my placement in Dodoma were a completely different adventure altogether. It began with three days of solo travel, as I made my way north to Kampala, the capital of Uganda. This was my first experience of traveling around the continent by myself so naturally I was a little nervous. Mum’s constant barrage of concerned e-mails in the days prior didn’t help me relax although it was comforting to know that people at home had been praying specifically for me. And for those of you here that did keep me in your prayers, THANK YOU very much!
Considering the reputation of Tanzanian public transport there were many things that could have gone wrong. On my first bus trip to Dodoma we encountered a flat tyre in the most rural of settings, while living in Dodoma had seen me catch minibuses filled to the brim. And when I say ‘filled to the brim’ I am not exaggerating. No less than 26 people would squeeze into these ‘death shuttles’ meant to carry only a dozen passengers. At other points in my travels I was forced to sit in the boot of a taxi, while South Africa’s road chaos saw me involved in many near-misses, some of which were literally centimeters away from disaster.
Those few days of solo travel saw an abundance of prayers answered. My self-made itinerary required me to spend 23 hours straight in a bus (including a night in the virtually unknown town of Kahama) before another 10 hours the next day. Coincidently learning that a lecturer at the university had a brother living in Kahama was a nice start. The second miracle was that my buses only accumulated one flat tyre.
My second night was spent in Bukoba, a small town situated on the edge of Lake Victoria. This seemed like a pretty safe place so I felt no fear strolling around the town throughout the day. At around 6 o’clock, I made conversation with a pretty harmless man, who merely wanted to know what a white boy was doing in Bukoba of all places. After a while, though, it became evident to me that he wanted more than just a conversation. He told me a story I was familiar with. A poor man supporting a poor family, in search of education and in search of money. I noticed that his story had some fundamental flaws, however at this stage he still seemed like a nice guy so I was willing to help in some way. His initial request was for me to give him about the equivalent of about $10, however I decided that I would help instead by offering him a meal. We walked around the area for a while before he found a small cafe at the other end of town.
Whilst I was sitting with him in the café I received a text message from the local tourist guide, who had seen me walk with this man minutes earlier. ‘Hi Kelvin. Take care that guy is Con Man. Last 2 weeks he stole things at our campsite.’ Almost immediately I fled the scene, making up an excuse that I needed to be at my hotel. Interestingly I received this message seconds before I was about to tell him what hotel I was sleeping at that night. I escaped with only a $3 loss, but it could have very easily been much greater!
Answer to prayer came yet again on my first day in Kampala. Having got a little too carried away at the local souvenir market I was surprised to find myself left with only 600 shillings, the equivalent of 60 cents. My attempts of trading back gifts were treated with confusion and reluctance, forcing me to pray and hope for the best. Despite the 70 cent taxi fee I was allowed on board, preventing me from being in the embarrassing and ironic position of having to beg locals for money.
Whether or not I escaped these situations due to God’s intervention is almost impossible to say. Nonetheless I’m sure God was watching over me, probably thinking ‘That kid really needs to be more careful!’
My tour of Eastern and Southern Africa, arranged by tour company Tucan, was certainly the most enjoyable segment of my trip. And considering the hefty price, it would have been a real shame had it not been!
From the perspective of a young person who had little to boast in terms of travel experiences this tour was nothing short of incredible. I kissed giraffes, drag raced tuk-tuks, trekked for mountain gorillas, swam in waterfalls, danced with pygmies, rafted the Nile, rode a horse through a lake, and walked with lions. But by far the most thrilling experience took place at Victoria Falls.
My greatest fear in life has always been bungee jumping. Not only does it defy the laws of common sense, but it is dangerous and very very frightening. Yet for some reason I decided to do it… and as you can see I lived to tell the tale.
Before the jump I was a mental wreck. In the week beforehand it was the only thing on my mind. Furthermore I struggled to sleep the night before, had to lie on an indemnity form which required me to be over 18 years of age and was forced to wait over four hours as about 50 others took the jump before me. But by far the worst moment was when I was standing on the platform and the instructor was counting down from 5. What made it so tense was the fact that I hadn’t actually seen the man attach me to any form of rope. It was a leap of faith if there ever was one!
Why I mention bungee jumping is because it was probably the most significant growing experience of the entire trip, if not my entire life. My decision to do the jump came as a result of logical reasoning. If bungee jumping was my greatest fear and I could conquer that then surely I’d be able to face all future challenges and fears that life was to throw to me. Fittingly the moment I returned to the bridge after the jump was probably the most satisfying moment of my entire life.
Being on tour could have easily distracted me from the Christian focus I attained whilst in Dodoma, but that was far from the case. On the contrary I learnt how to appreciate nature and people, in light of God’s creation. Countless long bus trips meant that often the only way to occupy my time was to simply reflect on the brilliance of what I was seeing. Australia, being such a flat and dry country, doesn’t really offer the sort of scenery that Africa does, especially when you compare it with stretches such as the Great Rift Valley. Furthermore when you’re in the middle of nowhere the whole Milky Way is revealed in all its glory. If Dodoma was dedicated to ministry, then traveling was a time of worship.
Furthermore the Christian influence in Africa is absolutely enormous. Hence I was frequently coming in contact with people that shared my beliefs. There was one man in particular who was so appreciative of the chance to meet a Western Christian that he presented me with a gift. It was a wooden key ring that he had carved with my name on it.
Not every person I met was willing to give me a gift, but many were able to at least bring a smile to my face. I remember one instance in Zanzibar where I came across a Masaai man who assumed I was from Japan. After informing him that I was an Australia he slapped me on the back and cried ‘Oh! Kangaroo!’
To be completely honest there were a few people I met that were pretty annoying. My obsession with bargaining at market places and going walkabout meant that I was often running into people trying to sell me things. Some vendors were manipulative and would follow and plead me until I finally bought something, while others were pretty crafty. Often merchants would convince me to pay for things I had absolutely no interest in buying. And considering how frugal I am, that is a fair effort.
It’s not rare for a local to want something off you, particularly when you’re white and supposedly ‘full of money’. I was often reluctant to give money to beggars, particularly child beggars, as handouts generally don’t solve the problem but infuriate it. To make matters worse there are scam artists out there exploiting the sympathy of tourists.
Potentially this does make you feel vulnerable in some areas, but thankfully I remained safe throughout my trip. Simply being aware of my surroundings was often my main tactic, however one night when I was walking around my friend and I carried with us a bow and arrow and a spear. We received many concerned looks that night, but we made it home alive and that’s all that matters.
Remaining crime free has a lot to do with being in the right place at the right time. Whilst doing a solo backpacking expedition into Swaziland I was well aware that I was a moving target. However, it was not me, but two of my friends that got mugged that week. They had been walking around in one of South Africa’s safest cities on the main road in broad daylight. While these things do happen to a lot of people I actually have the confidence to say that many areas in Africa are much safer than a place like Melbourne. Crime does happen but it certainly can be avoided and shouldn’t be a defining reason for deciding to avoid Africa.
The transition period between traveling and volunteering once again saw problems arise and prayers answered. The backwash of Victoria Falls smudged the face on my passport, forcing me to make appointments with the police, Zambian immigration authorities and the internet café before I was finally allowed to leave the country. Furthermore my camera mysteriously stopped working midway through an activity for no apparent reason; all the local banks refused to let me take out cash; and I needed to somehow send off an 8kg parcel back home. Just to add a little chaos to the situation it was also a public holiday weekend, so everything was closed.
Once in South Africa I was relieved of a little stress and was re-acquainted with the Western world. Those of you who know about South African history will be aware that it is one of the most interesting countries on this planet. Potentially I could spend about an hour talking about South Africa, but I’ll resist the temptation. But for those who are interested I would highly recommend the films Cry Freedom and Invictus, both of which shed a little light into the racial tension that has scarred this otherwise beautiful country.
Johannesburg is one of the most dynamic cities in the world in that poverty sits kilometers from the first-world. High fences, security guards, malls and friendly people dominate the northern suburbs. Meanwhile crime, a violent culture and an infamous past characterize the city and Soweto, one the world’s largest slums. Personally I was hidden up in the north, allowing me to hide away from some of the infamous scenes of the city.
My association with this area was a long chain. Basically Neil Bach has a friend who knows a guy who works at a church in Midrand, one of the northern suburbs. That man subsequently arranged accommodation for me with a family of parishioners. At the same time I was helping out at the church. My main responsibility involved writing a sermon for the primary school – a task that was far more painstaking than I had imagined – and giving a few talks at the youth group.
Which brings me to the main component of my trip: a four month volunteer placement. Based in the rural setting of Jane Furse, South Africa – a town so obscure that hardly any map bothered to mark its existence – I was given the role of a teacher’s assistant. It wasn’t long before the assistant part of that title was removed and I was being chucked into the deep end to teach Year 8s and 9s for 17 periods a week.
As consolation my students did have a sound understanding of the English language, making my job as an English teacher much easier than I thought. (However, they did tend to get ‘him’ and ‘her’ confused, creating some awkward situations). My other subjects were Economic and Management Sciences (which required me to study up about South Africa’s political and economic issues a day before I taught each lesson) and Life Orientation (a very general course about doing exercise and studying hard).
In all fairness I was expecting such a workload. When Lattitude – the company that co-ordinated everything – placed me and three other teenagers at St Mark’s College they informed me that this was the countries’ most challenging and rural placement. But as I explained earlier the main reason for going to Africa was to challenge myself and to push my comfort zones.
Given its history and its present day quest for reconciliation, South Africa is certainly a difficult context to get used to. But what separates present day South Africa from the rest of the world, and probably what keeps South Africa in the same league as the rest of Africa is the high prevalence of HIV AIDS. This virus sucks the life out of a person over the space of ten years and is the reason for hundreds of African deaths every single day. Although the disease is worldwide, it is Africa that clearly suffers worst. The reason for this is because it is a preventable disease that can be eliminated simply through sufficient education.
As you can imagine this placed a lot of responsibility on me as a teacher, although the curriculum I was required to teach often steered away from this subject. When I mentioned the issue the students were often well-aware of the concept but it was hard to know how much more they knew. There are all kinds of theories floating around and I was left to trust that my students were on the right track. It is not necessarily a taboo topic, however people who suffer from AIDS certainly don’t flaunt it. According to the statistics roughly 20% of the people I met – including the students I came in contact with every day – would have had AIDS. Furthermore death follows the people of Africa much more than it does at home, considering that other diseases such as malaria, bilharzias, cholera, tuberculosis and typhoid are also very common. Regularly my students would tell me stories of losing a close friend at a young age, or losing a parent or close relative. Funerals are a regular component of their lives but this doesn’t desensitize them. Losing someone close for them is just as painful as it is for us when we lose somebody.
St Mark’s College was also quite a difficult context to come to terms with. While the school seemed to attract middle-class students with good backgrounds, the school had a lot of internal problems. New management had seen the school’s results drop considerably. For example, something like 80% of the students were failing Maths. Office politics saw two teachers who had previously been banned from the school return from exile while the principal was a very unpopular man amongst the students; so much so that he eventually left the position vacant after receiving death threats. Teacher recruitment was done hastily without proper screening, allowing a lot of really lazy and rather ordinary teachers to be employed. And to make matters worse every day consisted of nine periods, which were broken up with only one break. In addition to this, students were required at compulsory assemblies, study time and ‘prep’ time. Meanwhile boarders were subject to ridiculous meal times, insufficient and cold meals, strict curfews and shoddy facilities. No wonder the whole student population decided to call a strike at one point.
The students weren’t the only ones getting a raw deal, though. Every night at 8.30 I was forced to be separated from my fellow volunteers, however to be fair I did get to eat their dinners every night as they all wanted to ‘eat healthy’.
My biggest challenge as a teacher was adjusting to this completely new context. While it could be said that I too came from a school that had its fair share of problems the issues of St Mark’s were far more intense than what I was prepared for. While I tried my best to not get involved in politics I couldn’t completely ignore the various issues that the students faced. Rather I had to alter the way I would have liked to teach to suit their needs and desires.
The first desire that I became aware of was the desire to not do any form of work. And having spent the past 12 years at school I could certainly understand their point of view. My attempts to be a cool teacher that students enjoyed lessons with were negated by my tendency to make my students learn. Occasionally I would add a little fun to the lessons, either by playing Aussie rules football with them, playing games in class, or showing them photos. However, these tactics worked against me, as the students realized that because I had the potential to make classes fun I was now expected to make every class free time.
Their tactics were far more entertaining. One boy would waste class time by asking me irrelevant questions about my life back at home and pleaded me to give him pieces of my clothing. (‘But sir… you promised!’ ‘All the other volunteers they come here and they give us all their stuff’) He once tried to lock me in a spare room, while various other students tried forcing the doors closed on me a few times. It got to the point where every time I entered the classroom a drone of “Aowa, sir” – which translates to “No sir!” – would sound. One of my classes ended when a student poured water all over me, while my last 4-5 weeks as a teacher resulted in me not actually teaching anything due to the students’ laziness. Part of the reason for all this was that the school lacked any form of discipline system, meaning my options for successfully controlling a class were severely restricted. As humorous as this was it was also very demotivating. I might have lacked qualifications, but I still felt the pain of being treated without any respect.
Overall, though, my experiences at St Mark’s were positive rather than negative, mainly because I managed to find a way to provide a service that the students actually wanted. I may have been a pain in the classroom but outside I was the cool new kid on the block. So cool in fact that one girl in my class proposed to me on my last day (‘But sir, there’s a church over there. We can get married now!’). I loved joking around with the kids and learning about their lives, while I never passed a chance to play cricket and basketball against them. But my biggest contribution to the school was an instrumental music program.
Initially the idea of free music lessons for guitar and piano drew a huge response. Almost everybody wanted to get involved and I had kids lining up outside my room to borrow instruments. Unsurprisingly the enthusiasm waned once I actually began taking lessons as students realized that learning an instrument required a level of commitment and patience, but nonetheless it was a worthy project.
With the help of Box Hill High – the school where I completed my secondary education – I was able to raise almost $500 for instruments, books and equipment. I couldn’t tell whether this contribution was a big deal for the school or not as repeatedly the staff and students would ask me how I was hoping to cart all my instruments back home, to which I would explain ‘It’s not mine, it’s yours!’ Some people took advantage of this principle and as a result I lost two small drums and plenty of plectrums, but overall the kids treated the instruments and the opportunity to learn them with the right attitude.
Another area that I became involved in was the church side of things. With more than 90% of the students coming from Christian backgrounds I was certainly eager to get involved in some capacity, however I was initially taken aback by how committed some of the students already were. In addition to their daily school routine that seemed to never end there were students who would spend an additional hour in prayer groups, bible studies and worship sessions. That’s not to mention assemblies, where each day began with a different teacher giving reflections of bible passages and students singing harmoniously in a choir. Again theological problems would arise in teachings, however, the passion and joy evident in the students and staff confirmed that their belief was genuine.
Language barriers prevented me from becoming involved with the Sunday service or joining the choir, but I became a bit of a choir groupie, following them around to various events. My original aim was to speak at assembly at least once a week, however as I learnt writing 10 minute sermons with effective applications is a task easier said than done. Hence I only spoke twice in 4 months, but both my talks were received well in spite of my Australian accent.
Something I would have loved to talk about – had I managed to finish writing a sermon about it – would have been Jesus’ claim to being ‘the way, the truth and the life’ and nobody ‘coming to the Father except through him’. In terms of the African church this is one of the most important things due to traditional religions. While much of the country is becoming ‘updated’ by Western influences there are still many who put their faith in all kinds of traditional healers, yet apparently hang on to their title as Christians. During one weekend I visited the ‘best traditional healer in the whole province’ (but decided not to get my fortune told as frankly it was too expensive) and watched the local witch doctors dance in order to grab the attention of their ancestors in heaven. It was certainly a… unique experience and my cynicism reached its climax when the whole phenomenon was explained to me. Basically these people pray to their dead ancestors and they in turn pass the message onto God. Which makes you wonder what they did with Jesus?
Little slips of paper that hang off lampposts boast the ability of the local traditional healers in giving good luck, solving one’s court cases and curing AIDS. Those who are even less qualified sell their services as a doctor, advertising 100% quick and pain free abortions.
This is a classic example of ‘TIA’ if there ever was one. TIA – for those who don’t know – stands for This is Africa and is one of the most commonly used expressions by tourists. It seeks to explain anything a little dodgy about the continent, whether it be a $100 trillion dollar Zimbabwean bill, a polygamist and convicted rapist being elected president of a nation, or perhaps a little child chasing you up and down the street chanting the local word for ‘white person’.
The eight months I spent in Africa was undoubtedly the most memorable and exciting period of my life. I managed to constantly challenge myself, push my own self-imposed boundaries and broaden my comfort zones. Furthermore I’ve become more independent and hopefully a little more mature.
It wouldn’t be a trip to Africa without me concluding ‘I realize now that I should stop taking everything for granted’ but I’d like to think I’ve learnt a few more lessons. I may not have contributed much to the redemption of this planet through any significant world-changing deed, and the little things I have done probably won’t change anything in the long term, but that’s not necessarily a negative thing to take away from a trip. In experiencing a foreign culture firsthand I have prepared myself for many future challenges, whether they occur in Australia, Africa or anywhere else in the world. I am now more open to the fact that the Western lifestyle is not the only valid and tolerable lifestyle on offer.
Africa does have its fair share of problems – there is no denying that – but it also a land of hope. The locals live happy lives in spite of the hardships that constantly face them, hardships that with our help can be eliminated. Please keep in mind that there are a lot of fantastic organisations all throughout Africa that need financial support, prayer and more volunteers. There may be little that Westerners can do in terms of preventing corruption, violence and crime but we have the resources to help the needy, treat the sick and teach the vulnerable.
Personally I know my job isn’t finished yet. I was challenged to go to the ends of the earth for Jesus, but that’s still a work in progress until the day I die. Whether I choose to work as a missionary one day or to return back to Africa is still uncertain, but I know that I want to dedicate the rest of my life to serving the Lord.
I hope that I’ve inspired you in some way. Thank you all for listening and coming along and if there are any questions I’d be more than happy to take them now.
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