De Sab

I am currently sitting at the tail end of what could be considered my first “rough week” out in the mission field.  Of course, different missionaries have different criteria and circumstances for what they deem difficult; however, for me, physical setbacks are always a guaranteed downer. It started with some food poisoning and dehydration, which led to much immobility during a time when I had made big plans for myself.  I was planning on spending my week going into town, making new friends with everyone, practicing my Arabic, and having pretty much the perfect week introducing my wonderful self to Mundri town.  Of course, this itinerary was only in my egocentric mind.  In reality, I was stuck in the team house, sipping chicken broth and lime green Gatorade, praying that I wouldn’t snap at the next unsuspecting child who came knocking on the door to ask for an unused jerry can. 

            Yes, I must admit that this past week I started to feel the pangs of “culture shock.”  I found myself getting irritated by the little cultural nuances that used to seem “interesting” to me.  And the little things seemed insurmountable.  I hated the monumental holes in the road, the stares I got at the market, the lack of good vegetables, and those relentless goats, who manage to bleat loudly enough to overpower my music.  I was sick, literally and emotionally, of having to greet every single person who passed through the compound and make small talk with them, when I hadn’t the slightest grasp of the Moru language.  I would then feel the flood of guilt, not only for my lack in language skills, but also for my lack of personal, communicative skills.  I was also frustrated in my weak body for letting me down.  Back in the states I never got sick.  Here in Africa, I got one bad day, and it put me out for the whole week.  Even as I started to feel like I was on the mend, I got struck with chronic stomach pain, which sent me to my tukul for another day and a half of infirm isolation.

            I started to imagine that I could be sick for a long time.  My mind raced as I pictured months of sickness that ended in little work and my being sent back to the states—a glimpse of failure.  I wondered if I needed to start preparing myself for this possibility.  My spirit was sinking like feet in the African mud and I wasn’t sure how to pull it up free again.  I decided that going to the Word for guidance was a safe bet. 

            I decided to look through the Psalms for encouragement, as David is a great example of faith under trial. God moved me to look at 147, which I don’t recall having ever looked at.  It was a blessing to read Psalms in a new and refreshing way and have God speak so specifically to me through the verses in this chapter.  Verses 10 and 11 were particularly fitting:

His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of man; the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.

            These words not only encouraged me of God’s unconditional love for me, but also they convicted me of my obsessive tendency so succeed out of my own strength.  Ever since I have gotten to S. Sudan I have been so focused on accomplishing want I think is important, that I haven’t stopped to pray and reflect on what God’s plan may be for me here.  Maybe His plan does involve me being humbled weakened for a long amount of time.  After all, it is not I who is accomplishing the great works in S. Sudan.  This chapter also had me reflect upon God’s power through both joy and suffering.  Coming to S. Sudan I acknowledged that I would gladly face suffering for the name of the cross.  Now, I realized that I am only willing to face the minor discomforts or the trials of my choice.  If it is a suffering related to nausea or thirst, I want out right away. 

            This past week I have been frequently reminded of my weakness in light of God’s power and grace.  It is a humbling reality, but a freeing one, knowing that the weight of the world isn’t on my weak shoulders. 

            Extol the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise your God, O Zion, for He strengthens the bars of your gates and blesses your people within you.  He grants peace to your borders and satisfies you with the finest of wheat. – Psalm 147:12-14

-Just to let everyone know, I am in good health now!  I have also gotten to have some good conversations with my teammates and am working through the tensions of culture shock.    

           

The Life of a Teacher

This week marked the first time I’ve gotten to work in education outside of my World Harvest Team.  I was overjoyed to finally be interacting with S. Sudanese teachers during a week-long teacher training series.  The week’s focus theme was “The Love of Jesus,” and our team of trainers strived to show the forty teachers how they could demonstrate the love of Jesus Christ in the classroom.  We were blessed to have the help of five remarkably gifted young teachers from Philly with us.  They lead all the S. Sudanese participants through interactive lessons, reading comprehension activities, and critical thinking discussions.  They were such joy to watch!  Each of these young teachers reminded me of why I love education and why a strong lesson is well worth all of the hard work and energy that goes into it. 

I quickly connected with the S. Sudanese participants, hearing their stories of how they started teaching and what obstacles they are currently facing in the classroom.  None of the teachers had gone through formal teacher training.  Many started teaching the youth in their villages during the wartime, when they fled to the bush.  It is surreal to imagine spending my first year as a teacher hiding under large African trees and running from nearby bullets.  Education was a necessary distraction and way to provide the children with some form of consistency amidst crisis.  Forget activities or assessments or even copying from a small chalkboard or book.  When survival is the number one priority, pedagogy and materials fall along the wayside. 

Even today, S. Sudanese teachers are without materials.  Many do not even have chairs or workbooks for their students.  Throughout the week, my mind wrestled with the contradictions of teaching effective American methods to African teachers, who face class sizes of upwards of eighty students, many of whom have obligations to work on the family land and look after younger siblings.   Some of the teachers at the training center did not even have buildings—they simply met under the spotty protection of trees every morning and prayed against strong rain.  Even so, the teachers were gracious and open to hearing the creative ideas of the trainers, who brought the best of what American teaching methods have to offer. 

One of the most eye-opening concepts of the week was that of various learning styles.  The trainers provided examples of rhythmic, kinesthetic, visual, auditory, and logical learners and let the teachers think about activities that would work for each style.  The teachers were amazed to see how helpful a simple song or competitive game might be for their more rowdy or inattentive students.  They reflected on their biggest concerns with classroom management and made a plan of how to adapt their lesson plans to include all learning styles.  Relief swept over the burdened teachers’ faces, when they realized that changes could be made to their classroom environment.  What a joy to see that!   

The whole week, my mind was racing, comparing and contrasting my life as a teacher to the lives of those S. Sudanese participants.  How much did we have in common?  Was a simple profession enough to connect two people groups from opposite continents and cultures? I don’t know if that one commonality is enough.  However, I was relieved to remember that the S. Sudanese and I have one more vastly important thing in common—our faith.  Whenever I felt disconnected from the teachers, I would share scripture that has been an encouragement to me as a teacher.  I could see their eyes light up in understanding and my heart would warm from the peace that only God’s word can bring.  

Of course, the Sudanese teachers were the ones giving the real encouragement.  They all face overwhelming obstacles, and yet have bold faith with each new day.  They persist through set backs and then give God the glory when their schools have any success—what a change from what we prideful American teachers do!  At the closing ceremony, I became teary-eyed at watching each participant receive his/her certificate of completion.  Not only they, but also I had learned so much that week.  Thanks be to God for meeting us there and working through a group of such needy teachers as we! 

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God made it for good. Genesis 50:20