Ego

Hindsight allows me to view my work in Zimbabwe with VSO as a natural evolution, the story of which will come out in a blog to follow. The Youth Education through Sport Project needed a pilot phase in order to assess viability and sustainability and other such important 'development' things. This was a project designed to bring HIV/Aids education to kids who had found their way to a life on the streets. The myths regarding transmission  and purification of the virus were simply astounding and the cause of deep alarm. The idea of YES, named in its pilot phase(s) as 'Youth Action in Sport' (a name later changed after warnings from a senior of mine in teh Ministry of placing the term Action and Youth together!), used sport as a medium of bringing kids together, creating a platform for educational learning. Nothing fancy at this point, at least not until we tweaked ideas based on our trip to teh MYSA project in Kenya.

The tournament was a rather grand affair. Mike, Maury, Sarah and I had been meeting with a group of kids we'd met at a weekly Bible study in Harare gardens. We played football on a strip of wasteland and eventually had a group of 'regulars' who would turn up for the game. What began as a recreational weekend activity would soon become central to my day job with the Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture.

This was from the start a groups effort. It was decided by concensus that no-one who was high or drunk could play on a Sunday afternoon. I suppose Mike and I were perceived to be the leaders of the group, probably because we owned the ball!  For the upcoming tornament, a team was selected, again by consensus (based on consistency in weekend turnouts) and prepared to play against a team of VSo volunteers and a team from the British Council. It would be a three way affair whereby each team played each team, and the team not playing would ento into an educational discussion led by a Ministry expert on HIV/Aids. We played on a lovely green surface provided by a city school, and even managed to secure VSO sponsorship for a team kit and boots for the boys to wear. When we received the money the kids helped to pick the design, and helped to lug the kit to an office for safekeeping. It was hoped that we would play other games in the future, and that this kit would be the possession of the group and no one individual. Again, all agreed.

The day of the tournament arrived and we were all thrilled at the spectacle. The Secratary to the Minister of Education arrived to open the proceedings, as well as some other well to do folks, and we were off to a great start. VSO head office in Zimbabwe had begun to take an interest in the development of the project, driven in part by an director with expertise and commitment to the fight against HIV/Aids. VSO volunteers had gathered from all over Zimbabwe to participate, though despite our enthusiastic efforts we were well beaten by both the boys and the team from the British Council. The educational component also went down well, with much for us all to learn during the session.

When the games were over the day ended with a braii cookout, featuring fine cooked meat and juice as all gathered to celebrate a wonderful day. When it was all over and we had all had our fill, one of the boys asked if I could come over for a chat. I had been receiving pats on the back throughout the day telling me what a fine job I was doing, what a wonderful tornament this had been, and basically what a bloody marvellous chap I was. With an ego now brimming, I walked over to the boys, ready to be embarrassed as they hailed me as a true hero. But the jubilant cheers and the hugs didn't arrive. Instead, a spokesperson for the team told me that the boys wanted to keep their shirts, shorts, socks and boots for their personal possession. The group ethos had turned into a desire for individual gain. I went over the 'rules' we had all agreed upon prior to the game, that the kit would belong to no one individually, but for the squad to play future games. Eventually all but one of the kids, who had left earlier in the day and sold his boots at the market (and who can blame him!) gave back the kit, but the negatively tense mood indicated what marked a dramatic shift in my relationship with these boys. The keeper of the ball was now keeper of the kit, a fact which evidenced the growing distance between myself and the boys. My ego, which had earlier been seduced, was now torn in tatters. This celebratory day, hugely successful in so many ways, had also been a critical failure in significant ways.

For the following weeks none of the boys turned up to play football on the wasteland. Word had gone out that I must have made money on the back of the tournament - on the back of the kids. Perception is everything. Later we held a meeting in Harare gardens to discuss the tensions that remained in the air. It made no sense to the boys that I was a 'volunteer' in Zimbabwe (although I was 'earning' the equivalent salary as my counterpart Mr. Mangezi). Clearly soneone made money out of the project and it wasn't them! Although my relationship with the boys did in many ways heal, this only happened over time.

Lessons would be learned as the brainstorming continued for a viable project that could bring much needed educational opportunities to the growing number of kids arriving on the streets each day.
As for me, well my ego survived, no doubt ready to be seduced again.

never be surprised

One of the Harare 'kids' (in his early twenties) that I had gotten to know after passing his 'spot' on the walk into work came to visit me in my office one day. After having a chat about life and love he saw a book on my desk. It was a new book and I had only had the chance to flick through the pages a few times. He asked if he could borrow it and I, trying to avoid an awkward moment, and quite surprised at his request, said yes. We shared customary shona greetings when one takes leave, and he was gone. After just moments I already regretted my decision. The book had been a gift and was worth a good few zim dollars (back in the day when zimbabwe dollars had some value!) - in other words I knew I would never see the book again. I kicked myself and ran out of the building trying to find the kid while at the same time trying to come up with a reason why I needed the book back. But he was gone, blending well into city streets that had their fair share of similar kids.

These kids, not surprisingly, had a reputation for opportunism - thay haggled, schemed, worked systems from a whole range of angles in order to gain some benefit. Over time you learned to see through some of the scams, but they were always five steps ahead of that game. Still, the walk to work each morning had allowed me to develop - or rather they to develop, frequent opportunities for wee chats.

A few weeks later, sitting in my office, trying with a colleague to cook some bacon without anyone noticing (right!) there was a knock on the door. My colleague grabbed the pan and tried to hide it under the table - just in case anyone found out what we'd been doing (I never figured out if it was a crime to cook bacon in one's office). As I opened the door, there was this kid, book in hand. He walked into my office, put the book down on the table and thanked me for lending it to me. He said he would love to read some more if I had any other books to spare. And then he walked out with a nod of his head. My colleague berated me for lending a book to the kid in the first place, knowing full well he'd sell it. 'But the book's here' I said, with a tone of surprise. 'Fair point', he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'Just don't do it again. Fancy some bacon?'

Open ears

This week in church I was reminded (by my wife in the pulpit) of the power of listening - for the voice that may call us where we are to something new. I was reminded of a time I was playing rugby in my home town, though not for the home town team. Preston Grasshoppers was always a daunting place to play, and this particular game was rather unfortunate for me. During the game I sustained a knock to my head and stayed down for a few minutes, catching glimpses of the following week! With a dull haze in my head I eventually came round and carried on playing. Moments later I took a second blow to the head and again, forcing me to the ground once more. I remember folks gathering around me, including players, referee and physio, all talking about what to do. So many voices, but all a blurr - until I heard a familiar voice, as crisp and clear as day. 'Come on, Adrian, it's time to go'. I reached up with my hand and reached into the hand of my father, who had come onto the pitch to guide me off. I knew when I heard this voice that I must go - no argument or discussion, just take his hand and let him lead me off the field. Now, having a parent come onto the playing field was not the done thing - it just didn't happen. While I had many things going on in my head at the time, not all so clear, the voice I knew so well provided clarity and with it a deep sense of love. It's not often that I have been given instruction and taken it without some comment - disapproval, sarcasm or attempted wit! But on this occassion I got up and walked with my father's arm around me and let him guide me. It was a treasured moment I will never forget.

I do not know if God's voice comes so clearly as my father's voice that day. Perhaps for some it does. For the early disciples it seems the call to follow was just that clear. When the head is weary and there are many voices pulling our minds in many different dierctions, maybe it's time to listen for a voice of clarity, and to reach out our hand and be helped to our feet. Perhaps it will not be the voice of God we hear but rather the voice of a loved one, a friend, or even a helpful stranger.Then again, who's to say God's voice is not so far away after all?

empowering our youth

The following is a piece I may submit for publication in a Christian/ecclesial journal. I would be interested in feedback before that decision is made. Thanks

The capacity of our youth to teach one another is no new revelation. Peer education is one of the most influential factors in the learning process. I wish to propose that we, as churches seeking to nurture the youth in our communities, be boldly creative in empowering the youth in leadership positions. Let me share two stories which highlight the incredible capacity of our youth to, well, inspire us to try something new.

From 1998-2000 I worked in the Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture in Zimbabwe, through Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO). Given the rapid increase in child migration to the streets of Harare due to social, economic, psychological and health related factors, particularly the catastrophic HIV/AIDS pandemic sweeping across sub-saharan Africa, Zimbabwe faced urgent questions concerning strategic responses. The Sport and Recreation Commission in Zimbabwe, partnered with the Commonwealth Sport Development Program in Canada, invited me to travel with a team of personnel to visit a project in Nairobi, Kenya. Allegedly, HIV/AIDS statistics had actually decreased within one of the largest slums in the city, due primarily to the development of the MYSA project. As noted on their website, MYSA is a self-help youth program linking sports with environmental cleanups, AIDS prevention and leadership training which involves approximately 20,000 young people. Self-help! The program brings youth of all ages together to play in sports leagues, receive education and participate in community service projects to benefit the lives of the people in the slums. The incredible thing about MYSA is the involvement of the kids themselves in the running of the project. While there are dedicated staff working to help guide the ship, it is essentially the kids who organise, structure, and run the operation. The various committees which gather are made up of kids representing their peers within the various regions of the Mathare slum.

One morning a colleague and I were invited to participate in the ‘jail kid’ project. We set off early one morning with a couple of children, Freedom and Innocence. In the van they asked questions about Manchester United, bantering away with big grins and a sparkle in their playfulness. When we arrived at the jail in downtown Nairobi the mood of Freedom and Innocence changed as they prepared for the task in hand. As we walked into the courtyard of the jail Freedom and Innocence set up tables and proceeded to lay out milk and bread. When all was ready the cell doors were open and a group of perhaps fifty children walked one behind the other  and stood against the courtyard wall. When the prison guards motioned Freedom and Innocence to begin, the children took some bread and milk and found a space in which to eat and drink. The pace was silent. These kids, picked up for begging on the streets, were crammed into the jails to await punishment. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday up to one hundred children are taken to juvenile courts. The kids range between the ages of 3-16. According to MYSA, the primary offence of the kids is that they are poor, abandoned or orphaned, and most are charged with vagrancy.

Once Freedom and Innocence had finished serving the bread and milk, the only meal the kids would receive on court day, they began to mingle with the children, trying to make eye contact and connect with the children. Their task was to gather up as much information as possible, including the kid’s names address, reason for arrest, and any information useful in reconnecting the children with family members. When Freedom and Innocence had spoken to every child in the courtyard, the kids were once more lined up and escorted back to their cells, awaiting the trucks which would take them to court.

When we arrived back at the MYSA headquarters, Freedom and Innocence were joined by other kids who gathered to receive information on the jailed children. Once all the information had been processed, the kids set off around the sixteen regions of the Mathare slum, in an attempt to locate family or extended family and inform them that their child was in jail facing court proceedings.
As we watched the kids set off on buses, on bicycles, by foot, I was truly inspired. There were plenty of other things these kids could have spent their days doing, but they chose to go the extra mile on behalf of other kids like them. The capacity of children to look out for others struck a deep cord inside.
When we arrived back in Zimbawe we took on board many lessons from our Kenyan brothers and sister and so began the Youth Education through Sport project. The YES program began working with the ‘streetkids’ of Harare, setting up soccer leagues and developing educational options during game days. Educational experts were brought in to speak to the kids on various topics, but it soon became apparent that the kids only semi-responsive. With the guidance of UNICEF, who became partners in the YES project, ‘peer education’ was adopted as the primary source of child learning. Kids in teams would select a captain and a vice captain, generally boys or girls respected within the team. These would be trained by local teachers in areas relating to AIDS prevention, and taught how to begin conversation with team mates after scheduled league games. Kids talking to kids! Kids teaching kids! Resources were developed in local languages, allowing newly trained leaders to pose questions, tell stories, or creatively engage their peers on a particular issue. Behind the scenes, experts from local community offices, such as health care workers, would be on hand to follow up as necessary to further questions that were raised following group discussion.
Evaluating the program after the first successful year, the kids informed us that they wanted to expand the educational topics to include other issues, such as drug awareness. Soon the program would spread across the country through local government and Sport and Recreation Centre structures, driven by the voice of the children themselves. UNICEF soon came on board, fully supporting the concept of ‘peer education’ as a primary source for child learning. Several years after leaving Zimbabwe, the project had expanded in phenomenal ways, reaching over twenty thousand children across Zimbabwe, and training over one thousand peer educators.

Are there any lessons that can be learned within our churches here in the US? Perhaps it’s too big a leap to jump from a prison courtyard, or the streets of Harare, to our church halls and educational centers. Different contexts reflect different needs, posing different questions which require different answers. But perhaps the leap does not have to be so grand when we reflect upon our own youth programs and how our kids are nurtured in faith. The influence of peers in the lives of our youth cannot be understated, whether in Christian youth camps or within streetgangs. This influence may not always be positive, but it is powerful. It is our responsibility to provide opportunities for positive influence…. Our youth and children have essential things to teach one another….

This articles does not intend to prescribe a ‘model’ of learning. It merely calls for us to have faith in the capacity of our youth to inform each other on their journey of faith. What are the innovative ways in which we can empower the kids of our church, creating space to ask and respond to their faith in the context of their world?

The Road to Maphisa

On the road to Maphisa, a rural town west of Bulawayo, I was crammed onto a bus with other civil servants on the way to a Conference. It was a ten hour journey in all and, to be honest, quite a miserable experience. Unfamiliar with Shona and Ndebele dialects, there were few opportunities to communicate with my colleagues, other than small talk graces. Only a few months into my stay in Zimbawe, this was a real low point for me, and I turned to Paul's letters in the New Testament to carry me through the trip. The letters were a real source of inspiration and encouragement to me at the time and gave me a much needed pick-me-up.

The conference began and we heard customary reports from different regions across the country as to how things were going. The high point of the conference was to be a large financial  donation from a European Embassy representative, a generous investment drawing tv media attention. On the morning of the transfer, the Head of my department in the Ministry arrived and suggested a brief report on how things had progressed during the conference. I was given 30 minutes to prepare a small summary speech. Dumbfounded, I had little to say, relying on fragmented pieces I'd managed to comprehend during the numerous meetings. When the moment came, I rallied with a brief presentation which built up to a rallying cry I'd heard used effectively by the VSO director in Zimbabwe - something like 'we might not be able to change the world, but through our efforts, we can change somebody's world.' It's all I had, but it worked a treat, and I received a standing ovation! If I do say so myself, it was a bloody marvellous, fly by the seat of my pants effort which compensated for lack of detail by going emotional. Moments later, the tv cameras showed up with the Norwegian representatives. The Director, in his wisdom, suggested that I make the presentation again for the benefit of our guests! Make it again! Oh come on!

After the second presentation, naturally a less enthused and dim shadow of the first, I had a long talk with the Norwegian representative, travelling with her young son and fiance. She was concerned about the investment, wanting to keep good tabs on that was happenig to the money being given. In that time we bonded quickly and I was, in all honesty, happy to talk to someone familiar with my world in the North. Soon the conference was over and we all gathered on the bus for the trip back. The SUV the Norwegian delegation was travelling in passed us on the single lane track and sped off in the distance. A few minutes later, the bus came to a stop and the SUV lay on it's side ahead. The son and the mum were together on the side of the road - saved by their seatbelts. The husband-to-be had not been so lucky, and he lay lifeless on the path. I sat with the lady for what seemed like hours, miles from anywhere, while she caressed her fiance's hair. The little boy was removed from the scene as we waited an eternity for medical services, which eventually came in the form of a police truck with a metal coffin in the back. As we sat there, I noticed her looking at a small metal cross I had pinned to my shirt. I wanted to take it off and hide it, the first time I'd really been ashamed of my faith - for not knowing where God could possibly be in this whole scenario. I feared her asking me right there where God was - a question which would come later that evening. For now, I had no answers and no comfort other than being a presence with her. She asked me to travel into the City hospital for support, and once there I called the Norwegian Embassy to let them know of the tragedy. They arranged for us to stay in a house for the evening and we would be picked up the following day. That evening, in the strange surroundings with strangers as hosts, there was plenty more time for conversation. She asked me about the cross and my faith. Any answers I did give went along the lines of 'I don't really know', with the odd 'I believe God is with us in the darkest of times' when it seemed appropriate. The breaking point came when a news clip on the tv played the conference proceedings from earlier that day. How could they know of the tragedy that would unfold hours later? Tears filled the room as images of the smiling couple crossed the room.

That evening I remember sleeping outside the main house and in back quarters. I couldn't sleep and woke up many times sweating and petrified - as though there were unknown and unfirendly forces stirring in the room. Illusion or not, at the time they were real - real enough to frighten me to the core. Not knowing what to do against prowling powers and principalities, inner demons, or simply bad dreams, I slept with my Bible open on the bed all night.

The next day officers from the Embassy arrived and drove us on the long road home. I managed to get word out to the church back home, who immediately lifted up this family in prayer through the local prayer network. Small token perhaps, but who knows. A couple of months later we met for lunch before she was heading hoome to begin a new assignment away from the haunting memory of loss in Zimbabwe. I had expected a torrent of abuse for any talk about God. Instead, she told me that she had felt somehow comforted since the accident and didn't know how to explain it. She said she was interested in joining a church to explore this 'sense' a little more on her return home.

I do not know how this story turned out for my Norwegian friend. Perhaps the church turned out to be a dead end street. But this story reminds me that, even though I had wanted to take off my cross that day on the road to Maphisa, denying my faith to avoid the awkwardness of it all, that God could provide comfort where I imagined such comfort was impossible. And that opening a Bible in the midst of fear and trepidation, while a seemingly ridiculous thing to do, can sometimes get you through the night!