These Experiences by Trent Tyni

When: 2007
Location: India
Contact: trent.tyni@gmail.com

Over two months ago we arrived in India unaware of the experiences that awaited us. Delhi humidity, persistent rickshaw drivers, and a forty-four hour tnging. Even in Delhi, India’s leading city, lepers lined the streets while barefoot beggars constantly badgered us. We quickly discovered that efforts to combat this problem restednot wit rain ride tested our patience. However, the magnitude of India’s poverty proved most challeh the government but lied in the hands of local churches, grassroots ministries, and growing non-profits. Working alongside these organizations forced us to evaluate our understanding of “development” – a buzzword commonly associated with the redemption of our world.

We spent the first ten days of our trip in Bangalore, India partnering with Yuvalok, an extension of Young Life in southern India. Our time here was spent teaching, painting two bedrooms, constructing a fence, and playing with the children. Through education, Yuvalok was able to provide for children formerly in labor situations with clothing and meals. By affording necessary subsistence, these children were freed from having to fend for themselves. In addition, education equipped youth with tools necessary to succeed in their desperate world. Reading, writing, mathematics, English, and the ability to think critically offered opportunities otherwise unavailable to these children. At Yuvalok we saw education as development - liberating and empowering the poor of India.


On the outskirts of Delhi we encountered the Sewa Ashram, a service community of society’s outcasts. Though almost all of the ministries we visited targeted India’s poor, this was the only ministry whose volunteers lived, ate, and slept among them. Here transvestites, orphans, handicaps, addicts, and the half dead found restoration through community. Suresh, a former drug addict rehabilitated by the Ashram, chose to care for the terminally ill patients of T.B. Hospital in Delhi. Slowing dying, unattended by corrupt staff and in endless pain, these were the lives he fed, bathed, and clothed. Suresh lived love in its most raw form: complete self-sacrifice. We struggle to find time to “volunteer” or “serve others” one day a week - Suresh can’t find time for anything else. This extreme devotion to Jesus’ commands proved unsettling. Although this ministry made us most uncomfortable, the fruits of it were undeniable. This was not a place where the destitute came to die but where the dying found life. Our time spent visiting the TB hospital, teaching, and simply being with these people destroyed our conventional notions of ministry that tend to distort Jesus’ words for the sake of security and comfort. At the sewa ashram we experienced development through a broken community. This is where Jesus would have walked - this is His Kingdom.

We found ourselves spending the last two weeks of our trip in beautiful Northern India. Nestled in between the Himalayas and the valley, Dehradun and Mussoorie played host to pristine weather, lush vegetation, rising mountains, and sporadic thunderstorms. Here remote rural villages lacking electricity, clean water, and proper sanitation checkered the mountainous landscape. EHA, a network of Christian hospitals throughout northern India, sought to meet both the physical and spiritual needs of these communities. Through various health development strategies (water, sanitation, education, and micro-enterprise), EHA revitalized village communities. Specifically in Herbertpoor, EHA helped village women initiate self-help groups. These groups not only promoted financial growth but also provided a forum for discussion in a community considered safe and secure. By working directly with village communities, training indigenous leaders, and providing quality health care, EHA embodied holistic ministry that satisfied both physical and spiritual development. By painting hospital rooms, organizing patient records, and visiting villages we encouraged EHA patients and staff. In terms of holistic development, EHA proved to be a revolutionary model for personal and social change.

These three ministries provide just a glimpse into what the Church is doing in India. Interestingly enough, it is these revolutionary models of ministry that are effecting real social change. Although each ministry blended good news with good works, we found that it is ultimately a change in mindset that produces real development. By preaching enlightened ideals of equality and freedom, the Gospel is able to liberate Hindus from the caste system and open the door to social mobility and progress. In fact, it is this change in worldview that we ourselves experienced on this trip. Through our journey together we no longer see the world as we did three months ago. Together we have been frustrated, we have asked difficult questions, and we have struggled with reality. These experiences have and will continue to shape the way we view our world and our role within it.

Coffee by Laura Ortberg

When: April 2006
Where: Menlo Park, CA
Contact: laura.ortberg@gmail.com

I never really wanted to look him in the eye. He sat outside of my favorite coffee shop the whole summer that I was home from college, and I couldn’t avoid him. I also couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge his presence. So, like most other people who cycled in and out through the door on their way to more important places, I pretended like he was a lesser object; a dog, perhaps, or a child in his stroller. Something that didn’t demand respect, someone whose gaze could be easily averted. Every morning, I made it my mission to sidestep him and to exclude him from my routine. Confronted with a common but uncomfortable situation, I withdrew into myself.

A good friend of our family’s, Shane Claiborne, helped to start this micro-population called ‘The Simple Way,’ where Christ-followers live together in the worst parts of Philadelphia and care for homeless people and partner with God to develop a loving community. My mom was talking with Shane once and remarked how many of her friends objected to giving money to homeless people, since they were sure to turn around and spend it on drugs or alcohol. Shane thought a while, and responded – I will never forget this – that as far as he could remember, Jesus teaches us to give to our neighbors in need. He doesn’t require that we follow up to see how our money was used, or that we attach conditions and qualifications to our gifts. Out of our abundance, we give.

And, as in all that we do, we are called to love and to be thoughtful and wise. If we pull spare change out of our coat pocket and toss it into a cup without ever looking at the person, ever seeing his eyes or stopping to ask his name, what are we really doing? When I ignored George, when I denied his personhood and closed my eyes to the piece of God’s image that he bears, I was effectively shutting a door that had been opened to me. When I finally paid George the attention that I would pay any other person I was standing on a sidewalk with, it didn’t take long before I made a friend. I couldn’t keep ignoring him as I walked in and out, as he looked at my fellow shoppers and me and never got any indication of recognition in return.

As I got to know him, I realized that George and the millions of people the world over in his situation don’t just lack a structure to give them shelter at night –although they do need that – but they don’t have a home. A home being more than four walls and a roof; it is a group of people who care for you and tend to you and are concerned when your life gets difficult. Passing him indifferently day in and out, George had come to believe that this crowd of people could care less whether he lived another day – and that secretly, some would be relieved if he were gone. For me, though, knowing George has been a transformative experience. As I’ve talked and sat and eaten with him, I’ve come to learn that the statistics representing homelessness in the United States, which can seem so vast and impersonal, are actually the composite of hundreds of thousands of very personal and very real stories.

Turns out, George isn’t so oblivious to the people who walk by him and look away. He was in love once, and lost his wife, and like most all of us, spends a good deal of his time living in fear. Events in life could just as easily have led to my soliciting outside a coffee shop in wealthy Silicon Valley. I haven’t earned my socioeconomic status, and I don’t deserve it. Neither does George. And if I turn my back on him, if I act as though he is an object to pass by, I am losing nothing less than the very soul of God.

My Favourite Page by Shanon Hannon

Date: 2005, 2007
Location: Malawi
Name: Shannon Hannon


In the summers of 2005 and 2007, I traveled to Malawi with Children of the Nations to work with children affected by HIV and AIDS. We organized camps, sports games, tutored, put together a village library, cooked, helped with house chores, sewed clothes, led devotions at a local village outreach, and spent quality time getting to know children and caretakers at Children of the Nations.

I find myself sighing. A friend of mine told me that we sigh when there is something we want but can't have. I argued at the time, but I think it may be true. I long to walk through Chiwengo village with Msayiwale taking pictures of the landscape, teaching him how to frame a picture, talking about my family at home, talking about fighting between kids here, explaining the "stubble" of hair on my legs. I can hear in my memory the laughter and the joy of the kids as I would play and watch their futbol games; the way Lidson would exaggerate every move when playing goalie, to guarantee an audience, the way little Drew would walk right through the game like he owned the field, confident that he wouldn't get taken out by the players sprinting back and forth, the two puppies born outside the House of Love, Bruce and Chuck (Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris that is) would run wild and bite at our ankles. In one thought I am taken back to that place and wish that

I could just jump back into the moment and relive it again.

One story of a grief counseling session with a group of girls reminds me that God is definitely working through the kids in Malawi. Just knowing that these girls have been through so much abuse, rape, and trauma breaks my heart. It breaks my heart that anyone would have to experience these things, but they have grown so much through their pain and hurt. One of the girls asked, "Where was God when I was being raped?" I struggled with this question as I was listening, and then the girl answered her own question which is amazing in itself. It was not a generic answer, an answer she knew would please or sound right, but it was sincere. She said, "God was with me. He never left me. He would never leave me or forsake me. He was there with me, with tears in His eyes and fire in His heart." I was completely humbled. For an eleven year old girl to know this truth and speak it from her heart, took my breath away.

During our time at one of the houses, an old woman knocked on the door, holding a tiny baby in her arms asking if we could take the baby into our care because she could not care for her any longer. She was the baby's Grandmother and had been caring for baby Bridget for the past month since the baby's parents had passed away. They took her in right away and it was so exciting to be there for her arrival. She is thirteen months old and also very frail. To me, she looked as if she was only a month old. I noticed that she never cried and her eyes would follow people in the room but she would never turn her head. One of the house moms told me that this is because she was too weak and malnourished to turn her head and she had no energy to even cry. I was silenced.

It's hard to tell people about my time in Malawi, I feel like the words can't find their way to my mouth and I'm at a loss. Our ministry and time in Malawi can feel so small when I think of the collection of little things we did. We are just a page in the lives of these kids but they are a favorite page in my life, a page I so often return to, a page that has been worn and well-loved. I am changed and better having known these kids. Life keeps on and I'll think of them everyday and I'll be sad for a while and reminisce with a smile or a tear and pray for the chance to set my feet on Malawian soil again.

We Are One and the Same by David Zoradi

Location: Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Date: 2004
Contact: dzoradi@hotmail.com

In 2004 I got hooked up with an organization called Youth with a Mission, a non-profit Christian missions group. After three months of training in Maui, I found out that I would be going to the Southeast Asian country of Cambodia. Our team of nine was going to be stationed in Phnom Penh, the capitol city of Cambodia (Kâmpŭchea as they pronounce it). Our focuses included working with a local Church teaching their English classes, going to youth aids orphanages, and helping the Church with their children’s program for the whole community.

After a days worth of flying, when I stepped off that final airplane, what I thought I knew of the world was no more. Its not as much culture shock as it is ruins of the former world view. I got my first surprise when I realized my luggage had not arrived. I had my guitar and what I was wearing for the first 5 days I was in Cambodia…what a start. Once the stun of living in a new country was over, our team had a choice to make. We had contacts that were a part of the underground church in Vietnam, and they wanted to know if we would be interested in coming. At the same time one of our translators at the church, Samphas Chea (his nickname is Jack) had an invitation from his family’s village to have us come in as special guests. Our team saw how much it meant to Jack for us to go with him to the place he grew up and minister to his deeply rooted Buddhist family. The interesting thing was that we were to be some of the first westerners to ever come into the village.


Our team was blessed with a place to stay in their substantial village for a week. We found out that many of the children had never seen white people before, but only heard stories from their parents who would go into major cities to sell the rice crop. When I heard that it was Jacks family, I assumed it would be a small community of immediate relatives, boy was I mistaken. When Jack said family, he meant everyone who was at all related to him. His immediate family all lived in very close distances to one another, but distant relatives were spread out for miles. It was an awakening of what real family means.


Our goal for the week was to pass out pounds upon pounds of salt bags to the families we would visit. In those villages, there is a huge salt deficiency in their diets. Large thyroid goiters were the resulting problems for many of the people there. We would trek through the rice fields until we would come upon a small oasis of palm trees where the family’s home would stand on stilts. They would welcome us in with such enthusiasm that they make American hospitality something akin to Oscar the Grouch. They would insist on us eating every banana and coconut they had on their property. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure seemed that way at the time. More often than not, the father would send his son to climb up a few trees to gather a full bundle of bananas and coconuts for us to enjoy. The experience of getting to share our stories, love for Jesus, reasons why we would come and see them, and health information is something I store deep in my heart. I can still see their facial expressions after we would pray for them. Jack was enthralled at what was happening in his home town. His face was a beam of light the whole week, so proud of where he was from, and so proud of the people he was able to bring into his village.

Jack became so much more than a number/statistic or even a face for that matter…he became a brother. For someone who grew up in circumstances that are polar opposite of me, we are one in the same.

I am still in contact with Samphas “Jack” Chea to this day. He ended up going into Youth with a Mission a year after we left and is currently serving on staff with one of their bases in Phnom Penh. He is dedicated to seeing his country infected with the love of God, and has committed to showing Cambodian youth how to actively follow Jesus. He is a man who is greatly loved by God.


Note:

Youth with a Mission information can be found at: www.ywam.org

Empowering Entrepreneurs: by Brent Boekestein

Location: La Herradura, El Salvador
Date: 2005
Contact: bboekest@yahoo.com


In late 2005, a close friend and I received a unique invitation and opportunity to help establish a marketplace and provide start-up counsel to 15 women-owned businesses near La Herradura, El Salvador. We worked with and through an organization called CIDECO – which is committed to a model of holistic development that is based on affordable, but not free, housing, education, healthcare and enterprise throughout Central America. In partnership with CIDECO employees and volunteers, my friend and I assisted a traditionally disempowered segment of the population, mothers with young children, in starting businesses that sold everything from fruit and vegetables to meat to consumer goods.



This job was both challenging and rich. It was challenging in that many, if not all, of the emerging enterprises, were resource strapped and therefore had to be highly creative in finding basic items like tables for goods and refrigeration for produce. The experience was rich in that many of the people we spent time with were truly entrepreneurial and found solutions, through friends, family and other informal networks, to get their businesses off the ground. One of those businesses was "Tienda Lacteos", which simply means Dairy Store. But behind the simple business name were two things absolutely necessary to a successful business: a great idea and a hard-working entrepreneur. That entrepreneur was Juan Meija Angel, a CIDECO resident with 14 years experience in selling dairy products. But Mr. Angel faced a challenge in that the start-up costs to his business were substantial – almost 1/3 the average yearly wage in El Salvador. Though through some "boot-strapping" and a bit of help from his friends and family, Mr. Angel started his business and even had plans to develop a local delivery route. An entrepreneurial success, indeed.



An important point to note is that it wasn't just men starting businesses - there were also women entrepreneurs. In fact, upon a return visit to the marketplace in 2007, we clearly saw the derivative benefits that are often the product of woman-owned businesses, such as increased income, gender empowerment and greater social standing. For me, this moved the experience from one of tough numbers (lack of income, lack of education) to something much more personal – a family with more savings for school, a successful dairy business, a mother with a voice in the community and a daughter with a pathway to economic freedom. If anyone is interested to learn more about the current status of the marketplace or successful micro enterprise models, please feel free to email me at bboekest at yahoo dot com.

'We Are Human Beings Too' By: Lesley Miller

Location: Beijing, China
Date: 2006
Contact: lesleymiller1@gmail.com

It's been over a year since Jonathan and I returned from China, a country we fell in love with through the three months we spent living, eating, breathing and simply being with the Christians who worship there. I could say a whole lot about the experience-- how delicious the food is, the beautiful countryside of flat rice lands, the monstrosity of the Great Wall, the heat of the summer, the roar of the cities, the wildness of our adventures. Lately though, whenever I think about China I tend to push it to the back of my mind because what I think about most is how guilty I feel for not doing more, not doing enough, to help the Christians we met while working there.
While there, we traveled all over the country-- from the southern lands bordering Laos and Cambodia, to the deep interior, Hong Kong, Beijing, Shanghai, Xi'an. In each of these places we met suffering, persecuted Christians who told stories that you might read about on Christian watch sites or CNN.com. In Hunan, we experienced the persecution first hand when we had to flee from a house church meeting when police arrived. As much as you can hear about persecution happening worldwide, you don't understand what it really feels like until you actually find yourself running, praying, panicking and watching your life flash before your eyes in a Chinese prison. Maybe it's the same reason why people don't care about the AIDS crisis, Darfur or human slavery- we don't understand it because we can't even grasp a small inch of what it feels like or looks like.

What's even worse is that even though I now see faces to the numbers of people suffering in China, I still have moments where I am paralyzed to move and change the situation. I wish I had more money to give, I wish I had more time to share their stories, I wish I had more drive to invest in the charity set up to support them. My excuses are a mixture of a lot of things that I'd guess many other people share.

Today I spent a half hour watching a video I made last year when we returned from our trip. I found myself choked up as I listened again to the stories of our friends, our brothers and sisters in Christ. I once again found myself wishing I made more money to give. Yet the one thing they always asked for was our prayers. I'd like to share their own words with you:

You can't imagine how important your visit is... working in rural areas and facing persecution means we become very lonely.

We are human beings too. And when we know other Christians are praying for us, we are very encouraged

"The house church is a church of God, a body of Jesus Christ. We just want to follow the bible and the Lord's command to share the gospel to the end of the earth. Pray that the Chinese government will understand us, that we are not a threat to them."

Doesn't that just kill you? "We are human beings too!" And so, I remind myself and share with you: The church in China needs our prayers. They need our prayers for comfort and encouragement in their suffering and for a government that will choose to stop persecuting them for believing in Christ.




The church also needs financial help. In particular, Chinese pastors need money to continue traveling throughout the country to rural areas sharing the gospel. There are several huge underground seminaries that we visited that are training high school aged students to become pastors-- yet they don't have the money to keep these seminaries going unless they receive help. This is a picture of an empty, underground room that is used as a seminary. Before this seminary was found by the government it housed hundreds of students underground for months at a time.



Please considering committing to prayer for China. And, if you are interested in giving directly to the people in China please contact me at the address provided above. You can also visit www.stitchandbloom.org to buy unique textiles and crafts with 100% of proceeds directly benefiting the church. This picture shows the factory where many of these textiles are started and stored before being sent to the U.S. The women that are making the products would have no other source of income without their sales.


Another great site to learn how to pray about current situations happening in China is www.chinaaid.org. The website will also list ways to protest what is happening in China.

Following an Ancient Example: By Lennart Konschewitz

Location: Pogradec, Albania
Date: June, 2007
Contact: Lenny.Konschewitz@everynation.org


In June of 2007 I was part of a little team of volunteers (two Germans, one Canadian, one US American) that traveled to Pogradec, Albania, in order to support a nonprofit organization called the "Nehemia-Albania Foundation". The name Nehemia stems from the biblical personality Nehemiah, who was a leader in Israel after the people's return from the Babylonian exile. He lived about 450 BC and helped to rebuild his country with practical work as well as through spiritual and social reforms. In 1991, the first relief trucks arrived in Albania. Their work and community development aid covers many needs: education, welfare, church planting, medical work, and other projects. Thus, our roles and tasks during these four days were very diversified. When we arrived in Tirana, the capital of Albania, we were right in the middle of a city which is developing into a more or less modern society. Modern and advanced meets old and dirty. Most of the roads were okay to drive one, except maybe for the fact that I as a Westerner missed the actual lines on the road that determined the lanes. Since George W. Bush had just been there a few days prior to our arrival we could still see the effort that had been put into giving him, and all Americans, the warmest welcome possible. Everywhere were posters and flags, and one big building, which was probably something like the city hall, had a huge George W. Bush portrait on it - what a view. We continued our journey to Pogradec which took us about four hours. We had to travel by car because Tirana is the only place in the whole country with a "big" airport.

Having passed through many villages, valleys, mountains, we finally arrived in Bucimas, Nehemia's headquarters. As Nehemia just finished building a brand new sports field including a soccer, a basketball and a volleyball pitch as well as track & field facilities, we brought along soccer equipment and taught many kids about technical skills and the importance of teamwork and fairness. The kids have the privilege of attending the Nehemia school were very welcoming and willing to learn from us. Some of them even spoke to us in pieces of German.

One day we drove to one of the villages which is located furtherin the mountains. We met with the children from the village, spend along time playing soccer with them, donated new soccer balls to them and just had a lot of fun. It was quite interesting to see the huge difference of infrastructure and life between Bucimas and the mountain village.

The soccer field we played on was just a piece of field without any grass left on it. However, they love the sport and truly welcomed us playing with them.

After the game we had a look at the school building in the village which is a difference like night and day when compared to the Nehemia school. Nehemia is in the process of constructing a church building which is supposed to bring light and God's presence to this community.

It was a moving experience for me to stand in the halls of what is soon going to be used for God's purposes.

The day of the inauguration was also a great success. The German embassy even sent a representative from Tirana, the mayor showed up and even more special guests plus dozens of parents and children came to open one of the finest sports facilities in the whole area. Since soccer is the big sport, especially among the guys, I wore a sporty adidas outfit and they thought I was a famous soccer player who had just come to be there for the opening :-) Well, I had to tell them that I was only a hobby player, and the only thing I could impress them with was the fact that Zinedine Zidane, one of the best players in the world, used to wear my outfit for a photo shoot (which was true!)

Moreover, the Albanian people are very hospitable and open to guests. Once we were invited for coffee at an old Albanian woman's house.

She cared so much for us, showed us around on her little farm-like yard, prepared a typical Albanian yoghurt drink for us and just seemed to be so honored to have us as her guests.

Even the hotel we stayed in was decorated and furnished in a way that made you feel like kings and queens. And if you lookd out of the window you saw dusty roads, maybe a cow being walked by her owner, and more or less dry hills.
On the mountains one can still see the thousands of bunkers that the communist regime had put up to "protect" their people in case of war. There are discussions now about whether it would make sense to use them as tourist attractions and get some money out of them.

The work that the Nehemia foundation has built up over the last years is quite amazing. They have a very nice school with high standards, and the first Nehemia University is already planned. The testimonies of the children and families who have found help and comfort through this work are so many and so unique. Of course, all this wouldn't be possible without the help of individuals and companies that believe in what Nehemia-Albania is doing. However, finding the right marketing strategy and fund raising methods is one of the challenges of Nehemia. Thus, another focus of our help in Albania was to have meetings with their staff and brainstorm about what could be improved, what needs to be started, what could be changed, etc.

Well, if you ever happen to be in Albania make sure you visit the Nehemia foundation. I'm sure they would, just like me, love to hear from you.

Check out:
"Nehemia-Albania Foundation"
has been founded by the German humanitarian organization "Nehemia Christenhilfsdienst" and the "Aktionskomitee für verfolgte Christen, AVC" both with their headquarters in Nidda/Germany. This makes Nehemia Albania part of an international relief organization with activities in more than 40 countries all over the world.

Games, Braids and Hope: By Ruth Magee

Location: Cape Town, South Africa
Date: Summer, 2006
Contact: ruthmagee83@hotmail.com

Going away to South Africa in 2006, I really wasn't sure what to expect. I'd been away two years earlier, had come home restless, unsettled, and ready to act upon what I'd seen and done yet all my good intentions had resulted in very little activity when I arrived home on Irish soil.

In 2006 when I was away, there was something so different about the experience. You never expect for children to impact and change your world, but some of those we met on township were for me, the reason I returned home determined to do something in response to the trip.

Although our main responsibility on township was to build houses with the rest of our habitat team, I recall one particularly beautiful day on township, one on which the local children had become very much the focus of our attention. Our team on the building site had a considerable amount of relief workers, so that freed up a little bit of time for us to play with some of the children who had gathered around our building site to see what was going on. I remember laughing hysterically at our attempts to play some simple games like "simon says" and "duck duck goose" with the children. They could not understand a word we said, neither could we understand what they were saying to us, yet the laughter and giggling echoed around those streets as everyone enjoyed the company of those around us:

failing to break the barriers with words, but succeeding to with the simple universal language of laughter.

Monica played along with us, a pretty little thing, no more than about 5 or 6 years old, dressed in a baby pink jumper, with her tight little braids hanging loosely around her shoulders. She loved to laugh and loved to play, and so joined in with our games. She loved to be picked up and spun round, her adorably sweet little giggle making the rest of us laugh with her. I spent most of the rest of the afternoon with Monica, spinning her around, chasing her through the streets. I'm pretty sure I fell in love with this little girl's zest for life as soon as I set eyes on her. As I picked her up, her infectious little smile beamed and her eyes sparkled with excitment, wondering what little game we were going to play next, and I couldn't help but think to myself when last she expressed such joy, secretly hoping that it wasn't as long ago as I feared it was. Nevertheless, she made us smile that day, made us feel alive, and the memories of her that day never fail to change me every time I think of it.

Words can't really describe this little girl, she changed our worlds that day, but to the rest of the world, she is a statistic.

I refuse to believe that it is right for anything this beautiful to be reduced to a statistic- together we can do what must be done...

Useful links:
Habitat for Humanity Northern Ireland
Habitat for Humanity South Africa

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.

Dirty Hands and Barbed Wire: by Ryan Kee

Date: Summer, 2005
Location: Estcourt, South Africa
Contact: kee.ryan@gmail.com

Some memories stick with a person a lifetime, and perhaps even longer. Set at the foot of the breathtaking Drakensberg Mountains, Estcourt is a small, rural town in the KwZulu-Natal Province of South Africa. Despite a colourful history, the town is nationally famous today for the same reason as my home town in Northern Ireland: sausages…

In the summer of 2005, I travelled to Estcourt as part of an Exodus team, where we were comissioned to the capable guide of Erlo Driemeyer, the coordinator of ‘Hearts of Compassion’ – a ministry of our host church, the Midlands Christian Centre. Erlo’s mission is one of reaching out to those families who have desperate needs, with little or no source of income, offering food, clothing, and practical help in an attempt to “minister to the needs of the whole person – spirit, soul, mind, and body- and to give people, who have no hope, a sure hope in Jesus Christ.” In rural South Africa, this means the man has his hands full…

Put simply, Erlo changed my life. Due to the events of those 3 weeks in Estcourt, I still find myself scribbling his name onto my knuckles whenever I’m lost in thought.

On our first day, before there was even time for orientation to our new surroundings, Erlo took us out into the wasteland wilderness of rural South Africa. He had recently heard of a new family in need; everything else could wait.

We eventually stopped at what can only be called half of a house, and that’s by rural South African standards. 5 children occupied this home, cluttered with scraps of nothing, and the remains of junk; infested with dust and dirt. In places, the clay walls had simply crumbled away, natural air conditioning. The children never really knew their father; he barely existed, and had disappeared a long ago. Their mother had recently taken off – either with a new partner, or simply due to her inability to cope with the family’s dire situation. The eldest child was 17.

Our team stood there, stunned. None of us had seen poverty like this before. None of us had seen anything like this before. This was Erlo’s first visit to the site also. After looking around for a few moments, his assessment was complete. “Right”, he said in a very usual and normal tone. “Let’s get to work”.

Over the course of the next afternoon, and under the direction and encouragement of our fearless leader Erlo, we removed everything from that house – and I mean everything. The remaining single room, no bigger than my bathroom, was then thoroughly swept and dusted from tip-to-toe. All pots and pans were cleaned with water and soap that Erlo carries permanently in his truck. What little toiletries, food, and school supplies that the kids had were collected, cleaned, sealed, and secured. The single bed – the only bed the family had – was removed and cleaned. This included careful disposal of the debris stored underneath, including the ream of barbed wire that had begun cutting through the mattress from below, and which was sprawling out into the room. We all struggled to come to grips with how anyone, never mind parentless children, could live in this place.

The clothes were put into a large tin basin, filled with soap and water – but cleaning them was proving difficult. Erlo ushered us aside, removed his socks and shoes, and hopped into the basin. He began stomping around, churning the clothes with his feet. This medieval method made him look like as if he was taking part in ‘La Tomatina’ – Spain’s annual tomato fight festival. Although amused, we were amazed. This man was on a mission; willing to get his hands dirty for the cause.

The clothes were dried on tree branches, and eventually everything was reorganised back into the house. The palace was complete. Relatively speaking, a palace is what it was. Of course less than nothing by our glutinous standards, but the improvement was honestly remarkable.

It was the most emotionally draining day of my life, and that feeling was widespread throughout our team. We wouldn’t have been physically empowered or emotionally capable of doing any of it without Erlo’s constant guide and supreme example of willingness and desire. The man was an inspiration.

We all learned a great lesson that day; the lesson of dirty hands. My dad used to tell me of grandpa’s ‘working hands’ – dirty, scarred, and calloused from a lifetime of hard work on his farm. Erlo’s hands were something similar. More than that, Erlo’s life and attitude was mirrored in his willingness to jump into any situation, ready for action, prepared to get his hands dirty in doing what must be done. For that moment, nothing mattered more than getting those clothes clean; there was no greater meaning in life than getting the children’s house ship-shape.

The youngest of the children was about 7 years old; at first somewhat scared of the intruders. She eventually warmed to our presence, and soon scurried around the house, watching and helping us clean. At the end of the day, as adrenaline ceased to flow, and as the sun set behind the mountains, we began to recall the dire situation of these children. Our achievement for the day held so much importance in the moment, but we were all becoming emotionally afflicted with what the future held for this family.

Then this little girl, notably unaware of her precarious situation, waved at us and smiled from the door of her home. It was one of those smiles. Several hearts were broken in that moment, and hope seemed to reside in the palace once more. I tried to snap a quick shot of her – she began to giggle and hide her face from the camera. I beat her to it and obtained my Kodak moment.

For the remainder of our time in South Africa, Erlo guided us through a programme of organising school assemblies, teaching at nurseries, visiting children’s orphanages and hospitals, preparing and distributing food and clothing packages, operating home visits, ministering to spiritually ‘traditional’ rural villages, and whatever else simply needed to be done. Erlo doesn’t care much for logistics; if something needs done, then it needs done. In his schedule of priorities, he himself is at the bottom of the list.

Erlo is constantly ‘getting his hand’s dirty’, if not always literally. Dirty hands are a mere consequence of caring enough to get off our backside to do something about the need surrounding us. Thank God for people with dirty hands.


Notes:

The Midlands Christian Centre is a church community in Estcourt, deploying the vision of fulfilling God's strategy for the area, requiring ministry to the 'whole man'; spirt, soul, mind and body, including responsibilities in social and educational spheres.

Building Homes, Building Change: by Phil Crockett

Date: July 2006
Location: Wallacedene, Cape Town, South Africa
Contact: philip_crockett@hotmail.co.uk

My number with a face is without a doubt, the undisputed, undefeated heavy weight champion of the world for cuteness and AWWWWWW factor! I met her when I was building a home for her aunt in the township of Wallacedene, just outside Stellenbosch, South Africa. My homeowner’s sister would come around to help build and make lunch for the builders and us labourers When I first met her she was a little on the shy side, and me being a 6foot 2inch “white” thing towering above a wee 5year old girl, no wonder! She would sneak a little sideways look out from underneath her red hooded coat at me with her big round brown eyes and just stare in silence for a second before turning and walking back to her mum. She got a little more adventurous whenever her mother was wearing her in a sling around her back. Being up at our level was just not as intimidating it seemed and she started to smile and to giggle and to chat away to me and everyone else on the site.

The following day I came into the homeowner’s shack, made from scrap wood and tin, whilst the women were making dinner. The shack had two rooms, a store and a room for living, eating and sleeping. The girl was standing in the makeshift door way between these rooms, just looking out through another doorway to the building site that had taken over the front yard in the last few days. She didn’t move at all as I entered the room just turned her head and looked for her mum, but I crouched down onto my honkers and she seemed to be reassured. I had brought my video camera that day and moved to my bag to get it. It has a small LCD display on it, which I was able to rotate around so she could watch herself as I filmed.

At first she must have been thinking “what is this big eejit doing with this shiny silver thing” but as soon as I switched it on she was mesmerised. It is extremely hard for me to convey to anyone, in words or otherwise, those next 15 minutes of my life but its fair enough to say they changed it. I was crouched in the middle of a rotting, smelling, leaking, cold, damp, dark shack but all I could focus on, all I or anyone else who was there could see, was the pure innocence and sheer joy on the face of this young girl. I’ve never seen, and am unlikely to see again such un-adulterated, absolute and perfect delight in a human being. Her eyes were fixed upon the screen, except for the moments she turned round to get her mum, who was watching from the other room, to look at the screen pointing with her hand and giggling as she did. I began to twiddle my fingers over my lower lip creating a smacking sound, she copied using her whole hand to wiggle her lips and again some more of those beautiful giggles came out as she watched herself. Those giggles and laughs shall remain with me till the day I die.

At one stage she just stopped and looked straight into the camera, her hand in her mouth but no smile, no giggles, just her usual everyday expression. I’m at a lost for words to describe this moment and can only say that beauty was defined in her. She continued to watch herself, swinging her foot about, giggling and at one stage playing hide and seek with the camera. 15 minutes of her life that I believe have changed mine entirely and for that I thank her. The following days on the build site were all awe inspiring, everyday you met people and heard stories all of which made me look at life and how we treat others in the world a little differently but everyday the one person who affected me the most was this young girl. After the video camera day she always approached me with a smile and loved to get picked-up, to be up high and giggle and laugh at all she could see.

She is part of the numbers that gets thrown out in the many statistics that are used by charity and government reports. but surely no number has got as beautiful a face.


Useful Notes...

The program that Phil participated in is organised by the Presbyterian Chaplaincy at Queen's University of Belfast, Northern Ireland; headed by Rev. Steve Stockman. To gain further information about the trip, please visit the following sites:
http://www.adamharbinson.com/StockiinCapetown.htm

http://medialook.org.uk/innovation_conceptv5/ver5/intro.htm

http://www.stocki.ni.org/caress/capetown.phtml


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.


Bridges of Hope is a social-action organization dedicated to helping in the fight against AIDS in Africa.