Calling All Givers!

       I am so excited to announce that World Harvest South Sudan now has an education fund to which people can generously donate!  The money given to this fund will go towards educational resources, supplies desperately needed at primary and secondary schools, and the costs for holding in depth teacher trainings.  I am extremely passionate about supporting the teachers and schools in South Sudan and am praying that many people will give to this cause!

go to this page for more info on giving!


On another note, as the team enters into the long dry season, it would be encouraging to receive letters or small packages. You can send to

World Harvest Mission
P.O. Box 355
Arua, Uganda

Thanks!

Things that we all enjoy:
stationary
photos of friends
chocolate
tea
coffee
gatorade
cliff bars
magazines
children's picture books
packets of drink mixes

On Making Friends

Farida and Liana

            Forming deep friendships is never easy.  It becomes infinitely more difficult when you are living in a foreign country and must sort through your differences in culture, experience, and language.  You have to get used to sitting in awkward silence and misunderstanding each other time and time again, fearing that you have just said something that has offended the other person.  Your mind races with questions, like “Have I said too much?  Have I stayed too long?  Have I eaten too little?” (The answer to that last question will always be a resounding, “yes.”) The fear of man has been made manifest in me these past couple of months, as I’ve had to step out of my comfort zone and pursue relationships with people in town.  However, God has been encouraging me every step of the way. 

I have been lucky to have teammates who have graciously allowed me to tag along with them on visits to friends’ compounds, in hopes that I will connect and form friendships of my own in time.  Having the social buffer of a third party is helpful when you are as shy as I am.  Also, African culture works in my favor—people are generous and amiable hosts, willing to throw aside their whole day for an unannounced visit from an acquaintance.  (How different we cold Americans are!)  Even when I start to feel like I’m imposing and suggest heading back home, my host will hand out hibiscus tea and mandazi (fried dough) and refuse to let me leave. 

My first week in town, I was blessed to connect with Karen, a young Ugandan woman living in town.  Having spent most of her life in the Western city of Kampala, she consumes American books like g-nuts and speaks superb English.  I had initially met up with her to discuss the possibility of having weekly Arabic lessons with her.  However, when we met, we enjoyed each other’s company so much that we decided to be friends instead of language partners. Even though we became friends quickly, it doesn’t mean that the friendship itself is an easy one.  Karen is hesitant to trust, as she once confided in a white woman who later left town and cut off communication.  I am slow to divulge too much personal information as well, wondering what is culturally acceptable.  The Lord has been giving me boldness to initiate and speak about the hidden areas of my heart, and Karen is slowly following suit. The hard part is knowing how to speak to her in truth, as she struggles under the burden of African gender roles and what I would initially deem as “unhealthy” relationships.  I am praying for the Lord to help me distinguish between what is “wrong” and what is just culturally “different.” The last thing I want to do is impose my culture on my new friend.

And then there are Farida and Flora. While my relationship with Karen bears the weight of broken relationships, my friendship with these two teens is as light as a sesame leaf, flittering in the African wind.  They work on the compound of my neighbor, Bishop Bismark, and initially made my acquaintance by coming over for a casual jump rope session.  From that day on, whenever I pass by one of the girls, I hear their animated calling of “Jonnifa!” and see their beaming faces.  Both are studying English in school but would like to learn more; I would like to learn more Arabic.  With this common desire, we set up a relationship filled with hangouts and some light-hearted bi-lingual conversation.  We sit in the shade, drink moya barid (ice water) and laugh at our failed attempts to speak each other’s language.  Yesterday, they braided my hair as we talked—and I left their place looking like someone from a 90’s hip hop group.

I am so thankful for the Lord’s generous blessing on my weak attempts at friendship making here in Mundri.  I have ridden anxiously into town many times, forgetting that the Lord has gone before me, moved in the hearts of my new friends and will work in spite of my spastic actions and awkward silences.  All I have to do is take the shaky steps in faith down that dusty red road and into the warm homes of the loving Moru people. 

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal – 2 Corinthians 4:18

Kotobi Teachers' College

Recently, the Lord has blessed me with the chance to work at a nearby teachers’ college.  Called the Kotobi Institute for Teaching Education (KITE), it was founded only a few years ago with the help of the Mundri Relief and Development Association (MRDA) and some generous outside donors.  The campus consists of teachers’ and students’ living quarters, a dining hall, and about 8 large school rooms.  World Harvest has been involved with the college through part time teaching of the students here.  Ever since I arrived in Mundri, I’ve been yearning to get involved.  God has been good to open doors for me to teach there on Fridays. (One open door being the ability to drive stick shift!!) 

This past Friday was my first day in the classroom.  The students and other professors were all extremely gracious towards me, as I wrote with my scribbly handwriting and spoke with my incomprehensibly fast English.  This particular day, I simply reviewed the parts of speech and gave examples of common grammatical mistakes.  The students eagerly listened to my examples and had many insightful questions themselves.  It reminded me of how inconsistent the English language can be and how dependent we English speakers are on the context and on our own cultural experiences.  It is always a joy to teach grammar, but I’m happy to say that I will be focusing on literary elements next month.  Plot, theme, symbolism, and metaphor, here I come!

What makes me even more excited about teaching literature is teaching it to teachers, modeling for them ways to make reading fun and interactive in their own future classrooms.  I understand that many of the popular American teaching methods are not practical in an African setting, but I’m eager to pull out a few fun “tools” from my proverbial teacher’s toolbox.  Next week, the 95 students at Kotobi will begin their student teaching placements at various primary schools in Mundri.  I’m so excited to be working with them through this process, as my own student teaching experience (with all of its stress and excitement) is still fresh in my memory.  I may even get a chance to observe them in the classroom, making note of their strengths and weaknesses as teachers.  It is extremely humbling to think that I may soon be observing other teachers, when I feel that I have so much to improve on as a teacher.  I just have to hold to the truth that God uses all everyone, regardless of his/her abilities, to work for good according to His purpose.

After morning classes, the professors and Melissa and I met together to eat a delicious meal of savory stew, greens, and rice, while discussing our frustrations with education.  We both vented over teacher pay, high teacher turnover rate, and disrespect with students.  However, the main concern was over the future of S. Sudanese education, when the government spends the majority of its money on its military endeavors (also a relatable issue in America).  Whatever small amount is left over ends up getting eaten by corrupt, high-ranking officials.  The government is three months behind in paying its teachers, while community development organizations like MRDA have no money left.  Wisdom and Justin, two of the head masters at KITE, expressed their worry over the future of the teachers’ college.  They are beginning to send their KITE students out into the community to fundraise, literally going from compound to compound asking for money.  They hope that these newly acquired funds can go towards a revenue-generating project that can sustain the campus for years to come.

It would be easy to become overwhelmed by the obstacles facing educators in S. Sudan.  Poverty and corruption really are a way of life here.  However, God has been giving me small glimpses of hope in my time here in Mundri.  South Sudan’s independence has given its people a renewed sense of ownership in their education.  Many young leaders are stepping up and looking for effective ways to bless their communities—and they are doing it with the joy and zeal that comes from the Holy Spirit.

Side Note: Melissa and I have been brainstorming ways to bless KITE this Christmas.  We will either set up a way to donate to the college or we will collect books for the school’s library.  Stay posted for updates on that.   

“I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep.” -John 10:14,15

How to Pray

        Recently, the Lord has been convicting me of the little amount of time I spend in earnest prayer.  Living with hordes of other believers, I have ample opportunity to pray aloud before meals, during meetings, or at scheduled prayer time; however, I have failed to dedicate portions of my week or even each day to reflection and prayer.

        I’ve been listening to some sermons on prayer and looking into the prayers of Jesus in the Bible as examples of how to pray.  This time in study has been highly fruitful, showing me the lack of humility in my prayers and my overwhelming lack of faith.  It has also led me to take a step back and pause before asking the Lord every request that pops into my mind.  On the other hand, my heart has also recently been hit with the urgency of prayer in such a needy region of the world. I’ve found myself wondering, “should I pray differently here in Mundri than I do in the states?”        

        This past Sunday I got to visit Melissa’s church, Okari.  This community church is less than a mile west of our compound, away from town and closer to the bush.  It is the smallest but also the most welcoming of the churches I’ve visited since coming to Mundri.  Children and families crammed onto the long wooden benches and smiled at we kawaja (white people) as we snuck onto a corner seat.  Of course, sneaking in never works, and we were made to stand affront of the congregation and give our greetings.  The pastors of the congregation welcomed any attempt I made at speaking Moru or Arabic, but also considered it a joy to practice English with me and make translations during the service.  In my interactions with this congregation there was no hint of doubt, no questioning of the motives of the kawaja for being at their church.  The people of Okari were simply glad to have new visitors.

        The pastors invited John, Melissa, and me to eat with them after the service.  There, under the low-thatched roof of the pastors’ tukul, conversation continued to dwell on prayer.  A guest pastor had preached on the story of Jesus healing the blind man and he kept emphasizing the use of prayer to get desired results.  John boldly questioned that idea, asking when we should pray for something and when we should accept God’s will.  It led to further conversation about motives and heart and even cultural relevance.  After lunch, I left church even more perplexed than I had been weeks ago.  My mind started racing with questions.  How much of my culture impacts how I pray to God?  Is it really okay for me to continue to pray for the things I want?  What if I fail to see some dark, hidden motives in my prayers?  Why am I so hesitant to pray for practical things each day? Is it because I fear that God will not answer my prayers the way I’d like—that I’ll either resent His power or stop believing in it altogether?   So many questions!

        The only thing left to do when my mind is so amuck is to pray.  I prayed for God to give me some wisdom in these matters and He answered that prayer quickly.  I found verses in scripture that talk about the human inability to understand things—how I’m always trying to explain things through a worldly lens. God also showed me many verses on His Fatherly love.  A resounding spiritual gong went off in my head, reminding me that it is foolishness to not go to Him with all of my worries and needs.  Of course, I will make mistakes in how I pray—I will NEVER perfect the act of prayer, as I’m a selfish, sinful human.  However, I can pray for the spirit to guide me in the process of prayer, keeping me more aware of my heart and my motives.   

        That night, my prayer was one of gratitude and adoration, instead of the usual guilt and pleading.  God has given peace to His neurotic daughter who over-thinks things— the amnesic orphaned thinker who places too much emphasis on her knowledge of life in all its wonderful perplexities.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not to your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge Him,

and He shall direct your paths. - Proverbs 3:5,6

Road Trip!

Last week, teammate John and I decided to pick up the rest of the team as they finished up their African holiday and landed in Juba.  It was a welcomed chance to get out of town and run errands that were overdue.  John needed to get various building supplies for youth ministry and water projects—I needed to assist in the purchasing of food items that could only be found in Juba.  A road trip!  I was overjoyed, and yet cautious to make the trek.

Juba has always been like the Emerald City to me—a mysterious place of opportunity, but a destination that I cannot decide will be worth the journey.  I’ve worried about the potential for disappointment upon seeing South Sudan’s capital city (it’s no Kampala or Nairobi).  I’ve also worried about the stress of being in a foreign city.  Will it overwhelm me, as I have already been feeling culture shock in Mundri; or will it be a welcomed break from “country living,” as I get to experience fast-moving vehicles and the indulgences that come from a more urban and Western lifestyle?  I found that my experience in Juba was an interesting mix of both.

We woke before the sun came up to make the six-hour drive to the capital city.  Although Juba is only about 130 miles away, the dirt roads are composed of nothing but extreme dips, potholes, and impassable mud pits.  At one point, we reached a muddy zone that had halted almost a dozen cargo trucks.  All the workers were camped out for the day and they watched us as we fearfully wiggled our Toyota up onto the elevated outskirts of the road.  It was a close call, but God was good to get us through it!  Another obstacle arrived at the Yei River.  The bridge was in disrepair, so no vehicles could cross; however, there was always the option of driving through the river.  John and I watched as others went before us, and then he steadily drove us through the rapids.  (Another moment of intense prayer that God got us through)

I was elated to arrive in Juba city, watching the horizon grow from a few dotted lines to clusters of markets, restaurants, and businesses.  The adrenaline started to pump as the options around me increased.  I could look for decorations for the schoolhouse here!  I could buy furniture! More important—I could eat what I wanted! Pizza! Salad! Naan bread! Sweet and sour chicken!  I don’t even like Chinese food, but I was excited to eat some (and experience the rarity of Chinese-African culture). It was encouraging to see so many successful businesses, so many people of various professions.  I’ve always loved the diversity found in the city, and Juba city was no exception.  Many different languages could be heard there and people dressed anywhere from tribal to professional to club-friendly.  Of course, just like any other city, traveling around in the car was a great source of anxiety for my neurotic self.  Michael, Heidi, and John (the few brave enough to drive through the chaotic roundabouts and around the reckless boda-boda taxis) were excellent navigators and were gracious to ignore my incessant gasping and words of caution.

The greatest source of relief for me was being in the company of my teammates, who I had missed the previous two weeks. Their personalities, their laughter, their stories, were a joy to have in my life again, and I looked forward to the upcoming season, working with my rejuvenated team.  We drove all over the city, getting supplies and continuing discussions on World Harvest work.  Of course, our time in the “big city” wasn’t without some relaxation.  We went to Ebony, a restaurant of beautifully thatched verandas and stone patios that was placed on the edge of the Nile.  We ate crocodile kebabs and fresh pizza by the riverside, and we played improv. and trivia games until well after dark. 

The following day, we went to an Indian restaurant before heading home.  It was a blessing to nourish my body with fresh vegetables and garlic naan.  After cramming all of our luggage and bodies into the vehicle, we hit the bumpy road ahead of us.  And more games and songs ensued for the next six hours. 

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.  Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the day approaching. –Heb. 10:24,25

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