“Donnez-moi…”
I have no clue how many times I’ve heard those words here in
Congo – maybe not quite as many times as poor old Saint Nick in his igloo
workshop on the North Pole…
I remember driving past villages last time I was here: all
the kids would rush out and say “donnez-moi biscuits”. Some of them even said it from their tiny
English vocabularies: “give me biscuits”.
Apparently the UN had handed out snacks a time or two, and now every
person those little kids saw was surely a Biscuit-Santa. Maybe some of us were even big enough to be…
When I walk past youth, I often here them practicing a
favorite English phrase: “Give me ze money”.
Few of them actually say those words to me, but they sure want to.
A group of men told me that I should give my water bottle to
a friend of theirs – because he had graduated.
A cute old gentleman in the group then informed me that he needed my
glasses. As if my near-sighted prescription
would do him any good.
I was walking with Nathan one Sabbath, and he was carrying a
“Canadian Pure” (made in Kinshasa) water bottle. A boy walked up and said “Give me the
Canadian”. I’m glad he didn’t comply…
That’s the one thing I was asked for more than anything
else: my water bottle. We were drilling
wells for the people, but they wanted our water bottles. Some would just ask for water, and when I
could, I would get them to open wide, and then pour them a nice mouthful of
water. Everyone around would laugh –
then more would become brave enough to jostle for position in front of me,
mouths open like nestlings awaiting a worm.
But I would rarely give out water bottles.
I once decided to try giving away a water bottle. I knew the kids asking for it only wanted it
because they saw it in my hand, but I decided to try. That little group of friends nearly tore each
other apart to gain possession of that bottle, even when I told them to share
it. Wisdom told me not to give any more
away.
But when I was walking here near the CFM campus, a lady
asked me the familiar “Nipe chupa,” give me the water bottle. As many of the ladies I see, she was walking
with a palm frond, woven into a basket, balanced on her head. She was obviously going to a little garden to
work. I see the ladies returning in the evenings,
laden with heavy loads of sticks, greens, or kwanga (cassava bread). I don’t know how those ladies, many of them
old and frail, lift their nearly monstrous loads high enough to suspend from
their foreheads, but they do – and then walk for miles, hunched over with the
loads on their backs.
I wanted to give the lady my water bottle, but I needed
it. And how could I give to one without
giving to all? And would my giving train
her to beg? And hadn’t she gone to her
garden many times before without a water bottle? I chose not to give. I won’t say that I made the right choice.
I hate facing choices like that. Those choices make me want to emulate the world’s
biggest bird, and bury my head in the sand.
But you can’t learn to fly if you’re and ostrich.
It hurts to see the poor here in Congo. The little old lady who, day after day, walks
and works the daylight away to put food on the table (if she has a table). Worse yet, the little old lady in the big
dirty city of Kinshasa, whose job is to sit by the road and chip big rocks into
little ones – as trucks drive by with their generous gifts of semi-burned
hydrocarbons, and big-shots race by in shiny cars, anxious to make the next business
maneuver.
And it’s not just the ladies here who work too hard for the
meager benefits of their labours. A man
here may secure a good job, with the handsome wage of three to five dollars a
day, maybe even more. But as a man’s
wage increases, so does his family.
Uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins – and their families – come and
lay claim to his wealth. And somehow he
still has to secure money to send his kids to school in Kinshasa, so they can
have a brighter future. He’ll probably
manage to buy himself a nice set of clothes, but he’ll likely eat only once a
day to do so.
Okay, so many here aren’t stuck that badly on the
hamster-wheel of hand-to-mouth living.
But many are. And when they have
medical expenses arise…
And sometimes I think I have it rough.
And what can I do for these precious people? Give them handouts that train them to beg?
There was a mighty prince.
His subjects loved to serve him, using their talents and strength to
build his kingdom into world too lovely to describe. And he loved his subjects. He trusted them, and let them freely enjoy
the kingdom too.
But one little province at the edge of his territory
rebelled. Why should they work for the
prince? Why not work for
themselves? And why not take a little
extra for themselves when they could?
With this attitude, the citizens of this province soon found themselves
in a degrading struggle to gain the things they wanted. None of them could really trust another. For the less fortunate, this struggle became
a desperate fight for survival.
The prince loved all the citizens of his kingdom, including
the rebels. The rebels refused to listen
to their prince, so he disguised himself as one of them, and went to live with
them. Life in the rebel province was
hard on the prince: it became a luxury for him to even find a place of shelter
at night. The abundance of his royal
table was replace by ill-prepared, yet overpriced, staple items. Yet he spent years traveling the province of
rebels.
The prince did all he could to make life better for the
citizens rebelling against him. They had
lost much knowledge as they had tried to fight to the top of their proverbial
dog-pile. They didn’t know how to treat
their wounds of illnesses. He patiently
treated them, and did his best to teach them practical treatments. Many had never enjoyed real friendship until
he befriended them. Gradually, they
learned to love his company, and even started to act and think like him.
After a while, the prince gained a large following of
friends and supporters in the rebellious province. Their faces seemed to shine with fresh
hope. They were learning new skills, and
beginning to enjoy the fruit of their labours – which the prince encouraged
them to share, of course.
But not everyone liked the prince. Those who had struggled to gain recognition
and to amass wealth became more and more jealous of him. They banded together in a desperate alliance to
get rid of their common enemy, who would dare to uplift those they’d
downtrodden. When I tell you what they
did to the prince, you’ll know exactly who he is: they caught him, tried him (I
should say, mocked him) in a kangaroo court.
They beat him, and tried every tactic they could to force even one mean
word or angry look from him. When that
failed, they crucified him. He asked the
king to forgive them.
This morning I reviewed a chapter in the Desire of Ages
about Jesus’ childhood – what Christmas is supposed to be about. The chapter brought to life the trials,
toils, and opportunities that Jesus experienced as a poor kid in an irreputable
village. He experienced poverty (even
homelessness during His ministry) to offer us true riches. “You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that you through
His poverty might become rich. “ (2
Corinthians 8:9) Actually, we know very
little of this grace.
Jesus became poor to offer us riches. Not like Santa Clause. Not like a UN soldier with biscuits. But often we treat Him like Santa. We don’t care what He’s really like; we don’t
want to hear His story. We just want Him
to slide down our chimneys with parcels topped in shimmering tinsel.
Of course, Jesus does have handouts to give us – which He
loves to give us. But He will only give
them if He knows they’re best for us.
And because of His poverty and sacrifice, we do have the offer of “pie
in the sky by and by”. But that’s later
(and more than just pie).
We’re the rebels in the rebellious province. Jesus isn’t physically among us anymore, but
He is still devoting His time, energy and resources to help us. And through the Bible, with the help of the
Holy Spirit, we too can learn to love His presence. And we can even begin to act and think like
Him. That’s true riches.
Of many it may be said, “He may have become great, but
instead he became rich.” Jesus left His
riches and proved that He’s truly great.
And He offers this greatness to us too.
I will try to post more about my experiences here in Congo
over the last 4 months. But first, I
wanted to post something truly important, especially since it’s that time of
year again (even though it doesn’t feel like it here).
May God bless more than just your Christmas,
Will
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