The Changing of the Times: by Justin Zoradi

Location: Belfast, Northern Ireland
Date: May 1st, 2006
Contact: jzoradi@gmail.com

This may have been one of the most significant things that happened to me during my time in Belfast:

“Remember that there is meaning beyond absurdity. Be sure that every little deed counts, that every word has power. Never forget that you can still do your share to redeem the world in spite of all absurdities and frustrations and disappointments.”

-Jewish Theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel

These profound words from Rabbi Abraham Heschel are a brilliant intro into what occurred a few weeks ago. When I was living in Belfast I would spend a few afternoons a week down at the Mornington Belfast Community Project co-leading an after school youth club. Located on the Lower Ormeau Road, Mornington sits right in the middle of a neighborhood usually referred to as being one of the most contentious areas of Northern Ireland. The Nationalist Catholic population of the Ormeau Road are a proud but cautious people, as they have suffered a handful of sectarian attacks on their community by the neighboring Protestant housing estates to the north, east, and south.

One of the main reasons I go to Mornington is because of a young man named Bryan; who is far and away one of the coolest kids I’ve ever met. He’s diligent in his studies, honest in his viewpoints, friendly, passionate, and has continued to be one of my greatest insights into Northern Irish life. So I don’t tarnish his hard earned reputation…Bryan is also one of the most offensive, violent, foul mouthed, stubborn, explosive, and complicated kids we have in club. In fact, I believe it was him, who, on my first day at Mornington left me in absolute shock with an unimaginable slew of obscenities and insults. His quick temper and reactionary positions, while oftentimes valid, usually have him furniture throwing, thrashing, and fighting nearly every day. Despite his outbursts, I desperately love this kid and am dreading the day I have to say goodbye to him. I wonder if he’ll ever be able to understand just how special he has made this year for me.

We’ve also had some new kids at club lately, so I’ve also been spending a good amount of time with another boy named Johnny. While a few years younger than Bryan, Johnny is silly and crude, honest and playful.

I am always intrigued with the boys at Mornington and their relationship with the Protestant neighborhood across the railroad tracks. As I became better friends with Johnny, I asked him if they were still fighting with the “wee Orangies” (loyalist Protestants) across the road. He replied that it happens every once in a while and followed his remarks with a handful of sectarian obscenities and accounts of how they continue to terrorize his neighborhood. I asked him if he remembered that I had caught him only a few days prior, throwing stones with some other boys over the railroad tracks into the Protestant estate. He bashfully smiled, apologetically admitting that the wee orangies aren’t always the perpetrators.

I was feeling confident about our interactions and decided to ask Johnny if he has ever talked to any of the wee boys from across the railroad tracks. He confessed he hadn’t and restated his position with a few more bigoted comments. I then asked Johnny how he would feel if he found out there were Protestants who were secretly coming to this club. His eyes tripled in size as he exclaimed,

“What!? If there were f...ing orangie bastards at this club, well me and Bryan we’d kick their f...ing faces in. This is our club, they aren’t allowed.”

While a bit taken back by his venomous response, I continued on and calmly told him that I was a Protestant and worked for a Protestant church. Surprised, he quickly caught Bryan’s eye across the room, “Bryan, did you know that Justin is a f...ing Prod?!” Until this moment I was unsure if Bryan even knew. We’ve been hanging out for months now, but I’d never really confessed my religious affiliation with anyone besides the staff members. Bryan, looking up from his homework coolly responded,

“Ya I know. I’ve known that since the first day. But he’s our friend now. None of that other stuff matters if someone is your friend.”

At the exact moment of this interaction I don't think I realized how significant this really was. I may have even poked fun at Johnny for his inability to get a rise out of Bryan. But sitting on my floor later that night, I looked up from my book, still taken aback by the dealings that had taken place at Mornington that day. And while it remains one minor interaction of reconciliation amidst hundreds of sectarian remarks, I think Bryan’s response is one of courage and transformation. And based on the politics of his neighborhood, I would assume the exact opposite viewpoint has been burned into him since he was a young child. Therefore, at 12 years old, his confession of tolerance and reconciliation under his social circumstances is of radical opinion.

So I’m hopeful that my relationship with Bryan will continue to have a significant impact on his life and on other kids like Johnny from the neighborhood. I’m also optimistic that the relationships the Mornington kids can build with the Protestant volunteers will help in discouraging them from both the childish acts of sectarian stone throwing, as well as the downward spiral of adult criminality and paramilitarism.

Now for all we know, I may have romanticized the importance of this event, but for some reason still sense it to be vitally significant. And I want to make it known that this is not something that I have done on my own. My prideful diligence for justice and reconciliation is not what created this supposed move toward conflict resolution. This is a direct manifestation of a living and active God who has motivated Protestant volunteers to use their time more constructively; all the while softening the hearts of working class Catholic kids desperately in need of hope.

And it's not like I 'hear the voice of the Lord' or anything, but the sense I keep getting from Him about the Mornington kids is that of commitment. That if I want things to change for the better I have to keep showing up. I've realized just how chaotic and unstructured most of these kid's lives are, so maybe the best thing for them is that volunteers each week diligently make that appearance. Whether we feel like it or not, we have to keep showing up.

And from what we’ve seen here, reconciliation all boils down to the imperative necessity of humanizing “the enemy.” I can’t help but think again of Flannery O’Connor’s brilliant line from The Habit of Beings…

“It is hard to make your adversaries real people unless you recognize yourself in them – in which case, if you don’t watch out, they cease to be your adversaries.”

I think the humanizing initiative for conflict resolution is similar in all scenarios. Whether it be complex social issues that polarize elections, localized conflicts like the one here in Belfast, or even global issues of war and terrorism. But if we can learn anything from Bryan and Johnny down at the Mornington Community Project, it is that our preconceived notions and opinions of others can be shattered when you actually meet the 'other.' Let us then encourage one another to emulate the actions of a few working class pre-teens from south Belfast and meet the adversary you secretly despise. And we all have them. You may not hate them or fight them in the streets but you sure as hell don’t trust them. It could be someone of a different skin color, or socio-economic standing, sexual orientation, political leanings, or religious traditions. But we all know how easily we each pass opinions and judgments about people we know little about. As we’ve seen here in Northern Ireland, fear of the other and a paranoid siege mentality is what has caused so much strife in this tiny country. I think the world needs more Bryan O’Neils and Johnny McCafferys.

"If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? But I tell you, love your enemies...." -Jesus, Matthew 5:46-48

Portland Pays it Forward: By Taylor Smith

Location: Portland, Oregon
Date: Summer 2003 - present
Contact: onwiththedance@yahoo.com

The most simple things in life are taken for granted. Can you think of the last time you felt guilty about opening a new box of pencils or buying a new set of crayons because you were missing the red one? During my life, I’ve never had to worry about buying something as simple as a notebook for school, or whether I’d have a present under the tree during Christmas. I was clouded by a materialistic lifestyle that seems to pervade today’s world and was unaware that kids in my own school might not be able to afford a binder to use for the new school year.

Then came the headlines in the newspapers: “Portland Public Schools Must Make Budget Cuts”. I began to think about the looming possibility of sports teams being cut, but then I began to think of things on a much more simple level: school supplies. I knew that schools often gave supplies to students in need, but with budget cuts, would they still be able to give out these supplies? With this thought, I started my mission, a mission to buy school supplies for students in need. After research and much planning, my friend and I were able to raise $371 to purchase 20 packets of school supplies for an elementary school in S.E. Portland, OR. The teachers and students were so grateful for the supplies we were able to buy. Later that same year, we came back to the school and hosted an assembly surrounding the importance of helping others, and most importantly, the idea of “paying it forward”.

My Mom kindled in me my desire to always be doing random acts of kindness, and after she passed away in the Fall of 2003 (shortly after I delivered the school supplies), I felt compelled to live out her message by helping those around me as she was always helping those around her. Today, my organization has close to $7,000, with efforts going towards not only helping children in need of school supplies, but also towards Christmas present drives, World Vision and now These Numbers Have Faces. Helping others and discussing ways to solve the problems that devastate our world is something that gives me a rush of adrenaline. I believe that everyone is on this earth for a purpose, and my purpose is to expose today’s problems and seek ways to help those in need; not only discussing the issues, but solving them. I am driven to help others, and as long as I am on this earth, I will continue to fulfill my purpose; I will continue to make a difference.

Children Of The Nations: By Greg Head

Date: June 2007
Location: Lira, Uganda
contact: gregshead@gmail.com

As I sat with these teenage boys in the middle of Northern Uganda at a government sponsored school an hour outside of Lira Uganda, I looked into their faces wondering if I was offering them anything of value. After all, I'm reading them a story that is all too real to them and almost unbelievable to me. A boy and girl get kidnapped by a group of rebel leaders, are forced to do horrific acts of violence and then escape with the help of their angel and begin to heal with the other victims around them. Oh, and they somehow accept Christ along the way. As I asked these 13 year old boys probing questions about their experiences being abducted and getting some replies but mostly distant looks, I wondered "Am I doing anything of any good? Why don't I feed them, give them medicine? At least then they'd know I cared about them by giving them something they value, something they want."

My trip with Children of the Nations was turning sour on me. All of my idealistic plans to save the Children of northern Uganda from the trauma they endured seemed like an insurmountable and completely impossible challenge. I felt I was letting down a wonderful organization that cared so deeply for the children of Africa and Dominican Republic.

And then there's the story of Bosco. Bosco was a 13 year old boy in my group. He shared with the other boys but often shared deep experiences. He shared how when the rebels came to their town, he was inside his hut when he saw them shoot his brother just a few feet away. He described how he had nightmares almost every night where he saw his brother being shot. He would wake up crying.

After 3 days with the children, I prayed to God "Help me to know what I did wasn't completely useless" After finishing the story and main questions on our 4th and final, I asked the group "How has this story helped you heal?" After the typical moments of silence, Bosco spoke up and told myself and the translator "I no longer have dreams where I wake up crying" Another boy who hadn't spoke up much in the group said "Because of this story, I now know God" I walked away completely amazed at what God had done through a simple story. The truth is I'll never know how my simple being in Africa, reading a story made a difference in these children and youth adults lives. But I do know that these Ugandan people have a hope that shines through the darkness and will continue to heal. We're all invited to be a part of that.

Please check out:

Children of the Nations
Invisible Children

Will you remember me? By Alair Conner

Location: Cape Town, South Africa
Date: Summer 2006
Contact: alair@thesenumbers.com

This seemed to be a favorite question of the young children I met while on a mission trip in Cape Town, South Africa. My first encounter with these adorable kids was a street outreach we held in one of the poorer villages. As our white vans drove through the dusty streets and shambled neighborhoods, children came darting out from every ally and doorway. We had no problem gathering a crowd and soon, we were playing chase, giving piggy-back rides and singing African songs. Two young girls approached me and started asking about what life is like in California since they assumed that I lived in Hollywood and was personal friends with all kinds of movie stars. One of the young girls, Yolanda, struck me instantly with her sweet beauty and innocence. I wanted to hear their stories, so we spent time talking about school, friends, family and just life in general in South Africa. When it was time to leave, Yolanda gave me about 5 hugs before I could finally get in the van. She kept asking, “Will you remember me? Please don’t forget me!” I told her that I could never forget her and hopefully I would see her again soon.

On the last day of my trip, my team and I had the opportunity to go into a local elementary school and teach a “Life Skills” class. Basically, Life Skills class gives students the chance to learn about self-respect, self-esteem, AIDS awareness and drug/alcohol abuse prevention. I knew that Yolanda was a student at this school, yet I had no idea whether I would have the chance to see her. During morning recess, I happened to glance across the playground and I spotted her. When she saw me, her face lit up with just pure joy! When my team and I got to teach her Life Skills class, Yolanda and her classmates wanted to sing and dance for us. This cold, concrete room was soon filled with a mix of black and white singing, dancing, jumping; it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. When it was time to say goodbye, needless to say we got plenty more hugs and I had such a hard time actually leaving Yolanda. She had also made me a card to say goodbye, and in it she wrote, "I just want to say that you are very, very special and I love you so much. It just seems that I've known you for a very, very long time...." Even so, she still asked, "Will you remember me?"

After I left, I kept wondering why these children would be so concerned that we would forget them. How could I forget moments like these? Then I realized how these children would feel neglected when their parents die of AIDS, their schools only do so much, and they are left to fend for themselves. There may be no on in their lives to treat them with the care and concern that they deserve. The amazing thing is that, when I met Yolanda, I knew without a doubt that I could not forget her; like she wrote, it seemed that we had known each other for years. When you meet that one child, have that one face in your mind, it never goes away. There is no choice but to respond with compassion.

You have to remember…

Montechristo Ministries (the ministry I worked with in Cape Town)

Compassion International (non-profit organization committed to sponsoring children)

The Cheapest Cigarettes: by Brett Adams

date: Fall, 2005
location: Santa Barbara, CA
contact: brett@theriotbefore.com

A few years ago I wrote a song called “The Cheapest Cigarettes” about a homeless man I encountered while waiting in line at a gas station on a rainy fall day in Santa Barbara. In my periphery I could see a man waiting directly behind me, his ragged clothing and unkempt beard and hair hinted at homelessness, while the two tall cans of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor he was preparing to purchase gave further credence to my suspicions. He noticed my investigation and the next time my dodgy, uncommitted glance came his way he met it straight on, his eyes firmly fixed yet bright and happily, contrasted sharply with his dirty cheeks. He smiled, said hello, asked me how I was. Caught off guard by his sincere and unexpected enthusiasm, my mouth filled instantly with clichés. “Fine, how are you?” “Well, I just got off of work, so I’m doing much better.” Work. He had a job. I threw out the erroneous conclusions I had reached about him only a moment before and inquired about his work. He told me that he had been doing roofing all that day and when I commented that it must have been tough considering the rain he responded, “Yeah, but a day of work is better than no days at all.” Profound. I agreed, not really sure what to say, positive that whatever it would be it would only diminish the quality of the conversation. I paid for my soda, said goodbye, and walked out of the gas station, ashamed, inspired. Just before the door closed behind me I heard the man ask the cashier for a pack of the cheapest cigarettes.

I drove back to my dorm room and thought about all that had happened in that powerful minute. Here was a man who was most likely infrequently employed at best (Near the gas station was the place where day laborers wait in hope that someone will pick them up for work that day. I was pretty sure that this man did the same, and as a result, due to the extremely high cost of living in Santa Barbara, probably was homeless in spite of the occasional job), most likely struggled every day just to meet his basic needs, probably failed to meet them all most days, and yet, in spite of his condition, was happy, outgoing, optimistic. I humbly drove back to my private college, to the abundant food I so often complained about, to the privileged stress of schoolwork. It occurred to me that this man lived inches from ruin everyday, with a real genuine threat of insecurity, and yet managed, in that moment, to be happy. While I, a semester away from graduation, fretted and worried endlessly about venturing off into the great “unknown” of life after school, but I knew that if anything actually went wrong, I’d have a whole host of friends and family to support me. I had a safety net just about everywhere I looked and this man had none. He deserved one. Probably more than I did. I realized that my safety net was large enough for more than just me and that I was obligated to help others with all the excess that I had. I forget that a lot and singing this song at shows helps remind me.

The Cheapest Cigarettes
By Brett Adams and The Riot Before

Listen to it!




Two tall cans and the cheapest cigarettes to relieve
An honest man and another honest day of working.

It'll help him through the night;
It'll help him get some sleep.

Then he's up again and he's standing on the corner hoping
His dirty hands can once again earn him a living.
Then it's to the liquor store
Another night spent on the street

Then a thought occurs to me
With a knot inside my throat I balance on
A rope thinner than feet a thousand feet above
A canyon floor with one exception;
Everyone can clearly see the safety net waiting
For my falling body.

Look deep inside of muscles sore; there's acid eating
But there's still life in spite of everything retreating
Because a day of work still beats
Not having any days at all.

What good is pride? It never stopped a stomach aching
What good are rights when all you want is to be eating?
A little shelter from the rain
A little comfort in the cold
A stubborn thought it sickens me

And I never learned a better lesson
Than what I can't articulate about a smile and a sense of something better
In what should be desolate and desperate
Disenfranchised and disappointing and so distraught

I'm a fake a fraud a phony every step I take
In a broken smile, he reminded me
My net is bigger than a falling body.
My hands are clean but my soul is dirty.

Check out...
The Riot Before

The Santa Barbara Rescue Mission

The Transition House Santa Barbara

All Because of You I Am: By Liesel Bakker

Date: 2004
Location: Cape Town, South Africa
Contact: lieselbakker@yahoo.com

I live in a country of despair, of injustice, of resentment and discrimination. I live in a country where people live in squalor, a country where people go days without food; die because they have a curable disease with no hope of treatment. I live in a country of inequality, where those who have crush those who have not. I live in a country where you are killed for a few cents, a country where fear shrouds your life.
There is a man I know, we rarely speak, but he once told me what he knew for sure. He said, "Do you know the Truth about life? I'll tell you - whatever happens is the truth. That's it." So here it is, this is my truth:

I’m just an ordinary girl; I have my own issues, my own insecurities, my own mistakes. I live in a good neighbourhood, I went to a good school, from which I’ll soon have my architecture degree. I grew up in a different world to the reality of most people in my country. Until 3 years ago I had no idea of the harshness of life, what people do to survive right on my doorstep. As a school project I got involved in an international student build through Habitat for Humanity. It all began as an innocent week of fun, a time to make new friends, of ‘good deeds’, building a house in a township I would never dare enter under any other circumstances. I’d heard of life altering experiences, of epiphanies, but that week transformed not only my life, but also my entire reason for everything I do. Going into the township I had known what to expect, I had seen the pictures - I had been warned, but what I saw was nothing like that. I saw love, I saw compassion, I saw community. I saw Ubuntu realised – all because of you, I am.
After a week of blood and sweat, of good laughs, of meeting new friends, the day came that the house was finished. The day the last brick was laid, the last tile fitted, the last window inserted. That was the day I wept. I wept not for the way I ‘helped’ a family that week, not for the poverty around me, not for the need I saw; I wept for the hope I found in that place, I wept for the unconditional love I experienced, I wept for the way the people I came to know over that week helped me, helped me more than I could ever hope to help them.

There is a story I know; it is of two men out in a boat on the ocean. One of them began drilling at the bottom of the boat, while the other aghast says, “what are you doing, stop drilling!” The other replies, “it’s all right, I’m only drilling on my side.” And so that is the truth then, this is what I realised that week; we’re all in this together, no each-to-their-own attitudes, we are all beholden to each other, we need to work together not against each other, we need to get our hands dirty, we need to be the ones that make a change, not the ones who wish it was different.

And because of this I am now ready to tell you, this is what I know for sure, this is my truth: I live in a county of freedom, of hope, of change, of love, I live in a country where I am certain goodness is everywhere, and will ALWAYS prevail. And for this, it is my home.


Notes and thoughts:


I work a lot with Habitat for Humanity in South Africa, and I have been out to Kenya to build on a school with a company called Madventure. Next year I hope to continue this work by partnering with them in Peru, as well as East Africa. Should you be able to help me out in any way, shape or form - please be in touch!

I am currently in my final year of my architecture degree. I have the belief that buildings have an ethical responsibility to communities. Should you know of any programme/ company that specialises in community involvement and upliftment, again please let me know...

Peace, Liesel x

Who Lives in the Shacks?: by Scott Sloan

Date: December 2006
Location: Cape Town, South Africa
Contact: scottysloan@googlemail.com

My story begins in an air-conditioned bus, and finishes in a luxury air-conditioned apartment in Cape Town, South Africa. But what happened in between, I cannot, and should not, forget.

Last summer, two weeks after returning from a life changing expedition with Habitat for Humanity to Cape Town, South Africa, I had the good fortune of being selected for a cricket tour to the exact same spot. How lucky was I, I thought, to be returning to the scene of so much joy, bewilderment, and the often shocking truths that had shaped my life since.



However, this time I would be behind the looking glass. In between our matches, we travelled in a western luxury coach and were booked to stay in the Oceanic Apartments in the affluent Camps Bay. A typical summary of this tours attitudes and knowledge can be hinged on the following over-heard conversation:

"Daddy, who lives in the shacks?” “That’s where the hobos live son”

Comments like this would frustrate me for the duration of the tour, but inevitably, we wouldn't be seeing too more townships. This tour was certainly a drastic change from my trip to Cape Town only 6 months prior.

Returning from the Cape of Good Hope on a sight-seeing tour, I had arranged to meet Coach Eric, Anda and Mike from JL Zwane FC to conduct an interview that can be seen on the TheseNumbers.com website. Ironically, I was to be picked up at the Waterfront shopping mall, a place my township friends were unlikely to ever visit. As the commercial centrepiece of the ‘new’ Western orientated Cape Town, it was a place rarely frequented by people from Gugulethu.

Getting in the backseat of that car, I felt humbled, and ashamed. But I was met with warm smiles, a firm handshake, and Eric’s gracious tone. “Good to see you again SS. We missed you.” Here I was, the token white westerner on holiday, heading to my luxury apartment by the sea in the backseat of a car with guys who grew up with very little, and who can only dream of foreign holidays. Yet almost instantly, our conversation was alive with what us Irish call ‘the banter.’ We talked about sports and I was unwittingly surprised about their knowledge of cricket, a typically white cultural pastime. We talked about girls, as guys inevitably do, winding each other up, about JL Zwane FC, and about our jobs. For 20 brief minutes our differences, and our backgrounds were wholly insignificant. We laughed together, we chatted sincerely, and we were comfortable in each other’s company.

We arrived at my luxury apartment and as they wandered around with open eyes and looks of amazement I remember Michael saying, “I’ve never been in an apartment before.” We were back where we started, a reminder of my privilege by birth, and my extraordinary life that I take for granted. But what I took away from that brief 20-minute drive is that colour, privilege, and geography cannot stand in the way of friendship and of basic human interconnectedness.


I apologise for my use of cliché, but the statistics that I had digested all my life about Africa became the bright faces of Eric, Anda, and Mike. It was those faces that will forever change the way I think about issues of poverty and my role as someone committed to social justice. As the interview ended and my friends drove back to the shacks of Gugulethu I was left with John F Kennedy’s famous words, “to whom much is given much is asked.”

I suppose the first step was recognizing my privilege; the second will be doing something about it.


Notes:

Scott's interview with his friends Mike and Anda, taken in Cape Town:

Habitat for Humanity International seeks to eliminate poverty housing and homelessness from the world and currently operates acrosst the globe, including South Africa and Northern Ireland.

By purchasing Fair Trade products, we can all play a tiny part in improving the lives of our friends around the world. Whilst in South Africa, Scott spent time at a Fair Trade Vineyard, witnessing the impressive impact it has upon the community.