Up until
today, this just hasn't felt real. We
are still literally driving through stereotypical African city, and I am still
playing with dusty village kids, but I still haven’t felt like I’m in
Africa. I’m actually not sure exactly what
that would feel like… well, granted, I also haven’t been to Africa before. But today, our eyes were opened to true
perspectives of life in Congo.
There’s a
soccer field that local village kids gather at about 5-10 minutes’ walk from
the house. I think this is the place
where I hear traditional church gatherings occur—complete with drums, chanting,
and shouting, all of which I can hear from across the valley. One afternoon a couple days ago I walked up
there with Michelle, and we ended up singing, dancing, and talking with about
50 village kids. Today, Savannah, Hannah
and I went up there again to see what was up.
When we got
to the dirt clearing, there were about 10 kids playing soccer with a little
ball. Hannah joined in with them. After some time we asked them if they wanted
to play another game… an American game, perhaps. Excitedly, they agreed, and we proceeded to
teach about 35 Congolese kids how to play duck duck goose with instructions in
French. Heck to the freakin yeah. They loved that and had a lot of fun.
Teaching duck duck goose |
Now up until
this point, my main perspective towards the Congolese is that I’m seeking to
build relationships with them. The value
of the relationships themselves is intrinsic, but through these I also hope to
increase my French language capabilities, which are greatly increasing every
day. After I’m fairly secure in
communication, I can proceed to more personal, spiritual, and evangelistic
conversations. A huge underlying
assumption of that perspective is that the Congolese would also want to engage in
those equal, mutual relationships the same way that I did. Today that changed.
The duck
duck goose game drew the attention of every passing village kid. One kid tried to talk to Savannah, who let me
know that he was trying to say something.
That’s him in the picture below with the white uniform shirt. His name is Josué, a young schoolboy, about 12-14, very
polite and well-educated. He said hello,
showed off some of his English skills, and we talked a bit about how we came,
when we came, and where we were staying and all. At this point, a crowd of about 30 kids and a
few mamans (mothers) gathered around us.
He then asks a question that I had trouble understanding at first. He kept saying “cadeaux,” (gifts) and “de l’argent,
money,” (complete with the universal thumb and forefinger rubbing gesture) and he
demonstrated what he meant by offering me his notebook, but it didn't look like
he was about to give us anything. Then I
finally understood what he said—“Ou sont les cadeaux que nous vous avons apporté?”
(Where are the gifts that you’ve brought us?)
Shocked—and trying to be apologetic, I told him that we didn’t come to
bring gifts, but we did come to learn to be missionaries. He then quickly asked that, when we return to
America and come back to Congo, if we would we build free schools for them. I tried to cut off the conversation and push
away any promises by saying that I was planning on coming back to eastern Africa
but not Congo, but maybe someone else would in the future. We decided it was time to leave after that.
Talking with Josué |
So apparently,
someone came through this area in the past and gave these kids free stuff and
now they expect it from us too because we’re white foreigners. How can we build mutual relationships with
people who are looking more for a handout than a friend? How can we play with these kids the same way
when they’re always thinking of us as the rich white folks that don’t have
presents?
Here’s a note, no, a WARNING
for future relief workers/short term missions organizers: giving free candy and handouts to needy
people may seem like a great and biblical thing to do, but that very relief
work will create serious perspective problems for long-term workers who don’t
come with quick handouts but do come with greater, longer-lasting development plans. Think ahead to the long-term consequences of your ministry, not just what you can do in a couple weeks to make yourself think you did something good.
I’ve heard many stories about groups that have come to an area, given away stuff, made the people happy, and left, and then later long-term missionaries come in to facilitate long-term change, but the people are even harder to reach and cooperate with because they expect the same handouts from them. I was not prepared to actually encounter this relief work gone bad so soon, and now we must negotiate the consequences.
That shocked
me and greatly turned my perspective of life in Congo. I’m still reeling a bit from that. But maybe it’s not all that bad. I’m not used to being seen as the rich kid,
plus about all of these kids may not know where they’ll get food in a few
weeks, and they are kids too. This can
also just be the way they think—there’s this African mentality called “patronage,”
where the wealthy man gives favors for others in exchange for loyalty. I may have noticed this in a couple
individuals—the main subject of our conversations is them trying to get me to
do stuff for them. Instead of my
immediate assumption that they just want to play the rich kid being true, that
could just be how they naturally act towards us. This perspective towards foreigners could be
used for good as well, even allowing us to go places we could not have gone if
it wasn’t there. We now have the
opportunity to share with them what really matters—is it all about money and
stuff, or family and faith? Nevertheless,
this mentality of us rich foreigners having loads of money and goods ready to
distribute is still a great barrier that we will have to overcome in ministry
to these beloved Congolese.
Me and Willy |
And of
course, not all of the Congolese may think that way. My first Congolese friend’s name is Willy. He works the yards around the missionary
compound. I see him every day. He also is a new believer who’s involved in
the church we go to. Oh yeah, I went to
a Congolese church this Sunday. That’s
another post for another day. But Willy
offered to take us to some fun places in town, and when an unexpected taxi ride
came up, he paid for us. Yeah. During that trip, a few times he put his arm
around my shoulder, grabbed my arm, or held my hand. Those are Congolese signs of close
friendship. I love Willy. I’m kinda crying as I write this. I am very thankful for a true friend here.
It seems
that Congo just got a bit more real. Now
we know what perspectives we’re dealing with, and according the Lord’s strength,
guidance, and favor, we can show the love of Christ to the Congolese even more.
Yes, this is
definitely the making of a missionary.