Life Escape

Our group pulled up to the house, a small, one-story, tin-roof affair in the middle of the city. It and the few other houses like it were dwarfed by the surrounding buildings. We walked through the front gate and towards the porch where four or five men were playing cards. They smiled and greeted us, shaking some of our hands as we entered the house they camped in front of like guards. 

They are the pimps. 

The front and back doors made a tunnel through the center of the house. We walked down the dim, creaking corridor with rooms on either side of us, making our way to the light at the other end. When we emerged we were in a back yard of dust and garbage where we met a circle of people sitting on tin cans and old speakers.

They are the prostitutes.

The house has a number of rooms and a number of prostitutes; the latter rent the former and work for the pimps we met on the front porch. We are welcome to visit them here at the house during the day. The pimps would probably not be as friendly were we to try to talk to the ladies when they were “working” the streets at night.

The women were talking and laughing together like any large family would do. One held a baby on her lap; another was attaching false eyelashes on her friend; one was obviously pregnant. They offered us their seats and our group was so defined. Those who weren’t interested in talking or listening moved to another corner of the yard. Those who wanted to be with us stayed, still talking and laughing, but when the message was given and scripture was read, many of them fell silent. 

It was a long message. The lady who offered it read scripture from her phone and made comments to the women in between. The verses covered topics from the Psalms like lifting our eyes to the hills from where our help comes, and from Acts where we are told to repent, that times of refreshing may come. 

The speaker didn’t hold back. She had spoken to these ladies before and she had no problem telling them like it is; their lifestyle is wrong and they need to get out. Another woman with the speaker asked the individuals if they wanted to leave this life. They answered yes. She asked them what they had done to get out. They admitted they had done nothing. 

She asked the women what they had wanted to be when they were little. One lady wanted to be a social worker, another a make-up artist; one wanted to speak to youth. They may have forgotten to pursue their dreams, but they hadn’t forgotten what they were.

One women asked what she could do. She wanted to leave this life, but how does she do it? She’s in ruins, ravaged by drugs and hard living. She wants better for herself and her children. She’s finished with this.

A life ruled by sin, indulgence and fear isn’t easy to leave. None of them want to be here, they’ve said so themselves, yet here they sit. They have families, some have children, but they just can’t walk away. The money is too good, the drugs are too addictive. The women who minister here tell them they can't do it in their own strength, that only God can help them turn their backs on this life. 

He is the Rescuer.

The lyrics to the song You Alone Can Rescue by Matt Redman are so perfect for these confused and deceived women. They can’t save themselves and their chains are too strong for them to break. Some may try to unbind them link by link, but what they need is Someone to come crashing through their bedroom door, yank the chain from the wall, pick them up, and carry them out. 

Who, oh Lord, could save themselves,

Their own soul could heal?

Our shame was deeper than the sea

Your grace is deeper still

You alone can rescue, You alone can save

You alone can lift us from the grave

You came down to find us, led us out of death

To You alone belongs the highest praise

You, oh Lord, have made a way

The great divide You heal

For when our hearts were far away

Your love went further still

Yes, your love goes further still

You alone can rescue, You alone can save

You alone can lift us from the grave

You came down to find us, led us out of death

To You alone belongs the highest praise

Flat Folks' Farm

You all will seriously miss out if I don't let you in on the inspiration behind this post's title. It just kind of came to me and I couldn't resist. When I was little I had this Playskool toy called Flat Folks Farm. It was great, actually considered vintage now, I think (am I old enough for my toys to be vintage?). Anyway, this post is about the "farm" I have right now at my flat...get it? Todd and I live in a flat, which makes us flat folk, and I have a little "produce farm" here, so that makes the farm flat folk's farm!

I should also mention that my youngest sister, Kimberly, couldn't quite get out the actual name of the toy when it passed to her, and therefore completely changed the concept by calling it Fat Folks Farm.

I hope my mom still knows where this is...and if not, I hope my dad gets on eBay and finds it :) 

I want to be a farmer. I’ve said as much for the last 12 days. My dream home is an old white farm house and I want it to have lots of land, a big barn, a garden, fruit trees and bushes, chickens, and, after I’ve gotten in some practice with these things, a cow or two :) My plan is to get my mother-in-law to teach me to can and my sister-in-law to show me how to plant strawberry and blueberry patches, and my father-in-law to build me a chicken coop. This is all after they stop laughing at me, the least likely of us all to do anything...earthy.

Before I can become a farmer, I need to get over my aversion to dirt and dirty shoes and hands. I should also probably try to grow something small. You have to start somewhere, right? Exactly.

So, to help push me in the right direction, I took up a little herb hobby. Our flat has a lovely “garden” (a.k.a., back yard), but it’s not really garden material. So, the next best thing in my situation is a collection of potted herbs in my courtyard! Todd and I purchased them last week and I have loved watering them, picking pieces off of them, and eating them! We went went with coriander, parsley, oregano and mint. Here’s an interesting fact you might not know if you’re not into herbs: coriander is another name for cilantro! You can imagine our delight when we learned this; it makes all the difference in homemade salsa! And homemade salsa makes all the difference in a nearly mexican food-less South African culture.

The tall one is the coriander, the one on the left is parsley, and the one you can just barely see in the bottom right corner is oregano! The planter was already here...we *ahem* removed a particularly ugly specimen to make way for our garden :) 

Parsley close-up. Say garnish! 

Did you know: mint needs to be planted separate from other herbs, as it is terribly aggressive.

In addition to herbs, we also got a modest and highly useful aloe plant! I was very happy about this. That is, untile I realized...

...we have an absolute aloe FOREST growing in the back yard. It would appear that the African breed even has little orange flowers. Had I known we have enough supply to bottle and sell our own brand of aloe vera, I would have skipped on my cute little potted version.

So, there's the farm! I'm not quite calling myself a farmer yet...I'm mainly just focusing on keeping things from dying. 

The perks of having one's own artist

I should really wait a bit longer to post this but I just can’t stand it anymore! I have to get this out there; it’s too brilliant to keep to myself!

Have you ever just wished you had a personal artist who could custom-design and complete your very own dish ware? Well, take it from me...it’s nice :) Todd and I purchased some plain, cream-colored dishes from a couple who was leaving ZA, and they’re the perfect canvas for our creativity!

I say “our” because, while I don’t do any of the artistic things in this relationship, I am often the one who comes up with the ideas. It was Todd’s idea to do our own dishes, but the design I want to feature today was my idea, a classic scene from a classic work. The Chronicles of Narnia have many classic illustrations that are lovely and enchanting. Todd found the illustration online and copied it here. Isn’t it beautiful? 

This is the first piece in the Chronicles of Narnia series. We have 4 series and each one is made up of 2 mugs, 2 bowls, 2 small plates and 2 big plates. So far Todd has completed the Hercule Poirot series and the nautical series. They look great! 

More pictures coming soon!

Look, I know he's attractive, but this post is about the art...the artist is not for sale. 

This is the stencil Todd made, which led us to...

...this! I love it. And him :) 

If you're hungry for it, you better make it yourself

Have you, as an American, read much of anything on American culture? Me neither; not until yesterday anyway. Here’s what I learned and what the rest of the world can learn about Americans at Everyculture.com

“Americans eat large amounts of processed, convenience, and fast foods. The average diet is high in salt, fat, and refined carbohydrates. It is estimated that 60 percent of Americans are obese. The preference for packaged and processed foods is culturally rooted. Americans as a whole enjoy the taste of hamburgers, hot dogs, and junk foods. Processed foods generally are perceived to be cleaner or more safe than unprocessed foods.”

Well. You can bet I was hot. This isn’t necessarily new information, or anything; the stereotype has long been established. Since our arrival in South Africa, several fast food=American comments have come up. In the early days of transplant, I was in a shopping center with a woman who asked me if I was hungry for some KFC, which we could see from the car. Um, not really? I mean, I know they have good biscuits but I can’t even tell you the last time I ate at KFC in the states. Since moving here I’ve had it once and that wasn’t because I picked it. We were carpooling on a long road trip with someone (who also asked if I wanted KFC) and that was the best option. To be fair, I had a grilled chicken wrap (ok, and some fries and Todd and I shared a Sprite) which was really very nice. I might try it again sometime. 

But that’s all beside the point. What this post is really all about is the delicious sausage biscuit pictured below, and a theme that has come up repeatedly in my ZA experience: If you’re hungry for it, you better make it yourself.

Pretoria is a big city, but it’s no Kingsport, TN., and by that I mean you can’t just find everything you want. Even if you can find it, sometimes it’s just more money than you want to pay. Since being here, we’ve made: tortillas, Bisquick, gnocci, biscuits, breakfast sausage, pizza sauce, pizza dough, salsa and chicken broth. Some of these things are non-existent (like Bisquick and breakfast sausage) and some are more than I care to spend, no more work than they are to make (like tortillas and pizza). Others, like gnocci, I just didn’t bother to hunt down. They may be out there somewhere. 

But back to the sausage biscuit. It’s amazing to me that here, in what could almost be called the "meat capital of the world," there’s no concept of breakfast sausage. You can buy a beef “sausage” that resembles a bratwurst and is often served at braais, but no Jimmy Dean specials floating around anywhere. It’s really unfortunate. So you can imagine my delight when I stumbled upon a homemade sausage recipe and was hit over the head with the realization that one can make one’s own sausage! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before; it’s just a matter of blending meat with spices. Nothing too gourmet about that. 

While I’m thrilled to know it worked I will admit that I’m not quite happy with it yet. It was tasty, to be sure, but still just a tad off. This might be due to the fact that I didn’t have plain marjoram on hand, just marjoram in an Italian spice blend. It could also be due in part to the fact that the only ground pork I found at the first store (little sausages in casings called "porkies") was already lightly seasoned. I found some plain pork at another store, so I’ll try that next time. 

Todd whipped up the biscuits and they were ok, but not as fluffy and wonderful as I had dreamed. I hope to fix that next time as well. I’ve found Paula’s recipe, y’all; my hopes are high ;) 

As we sat down to eat this homemade breakfast-for-dinner, Todd and I had a little exchange that went something like this:

Me: *sigh* “It will be nice to be home and go to Wal-Mart and get all this stuff ready to go.”

Todd: “Well, Americans do love their processed food.”

Point taken. It appears that in this my thinking is just as American as Everyculture.com claims and I’m determined to change, at least a tiny bit. A few items on my list of future homemade conquests are: breadcrumbs, ravioli, and sausage gravy. Take that, processed food!

Um, also...it’s important to note (both for my readers and my mother-in-law, lest she think her son will become a member of the 60% obese American population at my hand) that Todd and I do not indulge in the typical fatty, junkfoodie American fare all the time. Roasted vegetables and seasoned chicken breasts grace our table often :) 

Africa and the 10 Easy Steps

You know, it’s been a while since I’ve T.I.A.d you all; this is certainly not due to a lack of truly “African” experiences. Perhaps it’s just been building and building and today it finally pushed me over the top. No, we didn’t meet a lion on the road, nor were we traumatized by traditionally “dressed” Africans on television (that happened last week). Please, no. But before you can fully appreciate the experience in all of its African glory, I think I should first relate to you our TV fiasco.

In South Africa one must have a television license before one can purchase a television (we’re told—by our very distinguished british co-workers—that this inane practice is also implemented in the UK, so it can’t be all bad; it’s how the BBC—bless them and their brilliance—are funded, at least in part) . It costs about $25 every year, or 250 Rand, never mind that we just want it to watch our movies and aren't even using cable or public broadcasting. Todd did his research and learned that he could buy the TV he wanted at a particular store that issued licenses at the time of purchase. Great. 

We got to the store, found the TV, and spoke to an attendant. We were well on our way to purchasing the license when Todd flashed his passport and everything screeched to a halt. As it happens, the store can’t issue licenses based on passports; you need ZA identification and we don’t have that. 

The attendant was helpful and told us to just zip on over to the post office where they do (of all things) issue passport-based television licenses (you might need to read that again to really appreciate it). Long story short, we found the nearest PO, purchased a license, and made our way back to the store to get the TV. Todd was nearly giddy at how easy getting the license had been. I, on the other hand, had this creeping suspicion that something was off. 

It had been too easy. We’ve been in ZA long enough for me to know that most things aren’t easy. Paying for a hamburger isn’t easy, getting an internet contract isn’t easy, buying a refrigerator isn’t easy, and checking to see if your car battering is dead is really not easy (if you’re us and decide to be completely mental). It just didn’t seem right that we could attempt to and succeed in purchasing a television all on the same day with only one extra trip. No way. 

I expressed my skepticism to Todd who wasn’t in any mood to be discouraged by my reservations. We walked to the electronics section and Todd found an attendant. I perused the aisles (where I discovered the iPig...have you seen one of these things?), and waited for him to come get me, TV in tow. But that didn’t happen. Oh, he did come get me, but was curiously sans-TV. He also wasn’t smiling his usual laid-back, care-free grin he could be nearly famous for. 

“What’s up?” I asked.

“They can’t help me until Monday.”

“What?”

“I told the guy I had a license, he asked me when I got it, and when I said ‘today’ he told me he couldn’t help me until Monday.”

So. That was that. It turns out that the lady at the PO had told Todd the license would work immediately, but the attendant at the store wasn’t hearing it. Hilarious. My hunch had been right and we left, as expected, without a television. T.I.A.! Oh my word, T.I.A.! 

This brings us to today. Don’t worry, we did go back and get the TV on the Monday after this happened, and it was fine. Works and everything. Today’s story has to do with internet purchases, a whole new world of T.I.A.

In case you didn’t know, today is the opening day of Star Trek: Into Darkness in ZA, and our Distinguished British Friends and we decided to make a date of it at the cinema tonight. Carlton (who has actually been nicknamed “BBC” due to his renowned accent, epitomizing what you think of when you hear the word “England”) brought his laptop to the office where Todd and I work and the two of them selected seats and were taking turns paying by debit card. 

It turns out you need a cell phone number to complete the process, so Todd entered his number...which didn’t work. This is because you don’t need just any cell number; it has to be a number listed with one of the two approved providers. Guess what? We’re not with one of the two approved providers who seem to have some kind of sinister monopoly on the cinema ticket-via-internet-and-cell-phone industry. This only deterred us temporarily, however, as Ali, Carlton’s wife, is in the highly exclusive cinema-approved cell phone club. We used her number. 

This didn’t work either, though, for reasons I don’t really understand. I wasn’t actively trying to purchase the tickets myself, but I did perk up when Carlton mentioned that it was a 10 step process. Really, it takes 10 steps. See?

Here's the process at large...

...and here it is honed in on just the portion completed by phone.

If I was less familiar with the system (is there a system?), I probably would have gotten aggravated like I did when we first arrived and things didn’t work. Now, I laugh. I’m such a westerner, things like this seem positively prehistoric. 

After several failed attempts Carlton called the cinema and confirmed seats for us. And, while it may be murder to try to purchase tickets digitally, the purchase price itself is really cheap. Todd and I can see a non-matinee (the price doesn't change based on time of day) for less than $10—total! (Movie prices are cheap anyway, but we use our Clicks Pharmacy card and get a discount) And popcorn costs less than $2 for a size that must be considered a medium in most American cinemas (or theaters or “shows” as we say). And the theater is actually very nice, as I pointed out in a previous post. 

Lesson learned: online purchases require too many steps, and I’d rather get my exercise in real life :) T.I.A.!

Do People Live Here?

“Do you know Jesus Loves Me?” *Manasiko asked me as I pushed her in the tire converted into a swing with a back and handles. 

“Yes, I know it.”

“Sing it.”

I sang through the song and she turned in the swing to watch me. It’s probably a song they sing often at the center in Mamelodi where children come for the after school program. 

“Now it’s your turn. You have to sing me a song,” I said.

“What song?”

“Any song you know. Sing me a song in Zulu,” I offered, hoping that an appeal to hear her mother tongue would result in a very African tune, complete with harmonies and clapping. 

She thought a moment before settling on a song. I listened attentively and she sang in a lovely voice I’ve found to be so common among Africans. I don’t know if I’ve met one that can’t sing, and most will oblige when asked. There’s not the same bashful refusal one usually meets in America. 

When she’d finished the cheerful little song I asked for the translation.

“It means ‘Every morning the men go to work, but my man is busy drinking alcohol. There’s no money for the children to buy food,” she said.

Not the answer I was expecting.

“That’s a very sad song!”

“Oh, you wanted a nice one?” Upon clarifying what I had in mind, she sang part of another song, one that I had heard before, which translated means hold on to Jesus. That was more like it. 

The after school program runs from Monday to Thursday and each day follows the same organized agenda. The children arrive at about 2:00pm and are fed a big lunch. There were only about 25 children present, and the leaders know nearly all of them by name. They’re regulars. They’re expected. After lunch, a crate full of toothbrushes with sanitary caps and drinking cups are brought out and each child finds the one with his or her name on it. The children appointed group leaders are responsible for wiping their tables down after lunch, a burdensome task considering that a game of soccer started up before all the children were done eating. It’s a pretty big temptation. 

At the table I joined, one of the girls took the hard boiled egg from a boy’s plate; he wasn’t sitting at the table at the moment. I eyed her with a sneaking grin, assuming she couldn’t really have been stealing it. Surely there was an agreement. 

“Does he not like eggs?” I asked innocently.

The girl shrugged as she began peeling the shell off. “He wants to go play soccer and we told him that if he eats an egg and plays soccer, he will fart.”

At this, we both laughed.  It must have been a convincing argument, as the boy didn’t seem sad to part with the egg, especially since it got him to the soccer field more quickly. 

After class time and devotions comes snack time which consisted of fruit, chocolate cake, and a “healthy” milkshake (made of nasty things like...like...vitamins! The kids at my table raced to see who could chug their nutrition fastest, getting it out of the way), and after snack it’s time to go home. Normally the kids are dropped off in groups in strategic locations, but on Thursdays each child is sent home with a big bag of food and dropped off individually. Most kids left in the center’s bus and 8 or 10 kids along with their bags of food climbed in the back of a truck and I sat with the driver in the front. 

I was in for a bumpy ride...and I mean that as literally as I can. You’ve probably never seen potholes like these.

I have never been anywhere quite like the neighborhoods of Mamelodi. We wound our way on trails through sprawling townships where row after row of little tin shacks served as homes for what must be thousands of people. There were people sitting around fires, talking along the side of the road, getting their hair done at one of the many tiny hair salons, or selling things like chips or vegetables in places that could hardly be considered shops. There were children singing and dancing, carrying smaller siblings, and pushing wheelbarrows loaded with what must have been close to 200 pounds of water. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve been around poverty, but it may well be the first time I’ve been around poverty to this extent and degree. There were so many shacks, so many people. It wasn’t the occasional run-down house; it was a never-ending, piled-up, dirty, crowded scene, and each shack represented a family who called it home. I was struck by the thought that the children we were dropping off, wearing their little school uniforms, lived here. This wasn’t where they came for a week or two to “do ministry,” or “experience” things. They lived here. I thought about one of the little girls we dropped off, *Aranti. I watched her mother come out of an incredibly small tin shack and the only thing I could think was how cold and miserable it must be to sleep there. 

Not all the children lived in tin shacks. Eventually we made it out of the townships and were in a place you could actually call a neighborhood again. It was still poor, but it looked more like places you could imagine someone (though not yourself) living in. We dropped Manasiko off at a house like this, and were told that her grandmother had passed away earlier that morning. She had custody of Manasiko and the man who told us the news (perhaps he was an uncle or family friend) wasn’t sure what would happen. 

They say that seeing real poverty will make you realize how rich you are, and it’s true; I am rich. How can my life be so different from the lives of the people I saw in Mamelodi, less than 30 minutes from my luxurious flat? I thought about my blessings as I walked upstairs to my fully-furnished bedroom—I used to call it spartan—where I knew I could sleep in comfort in a world far removed from the children I’d pushed on the swings...could it have only been a few hours ago?

*Indicates a change in name

How Much Do You Know?

Dear Kimberly,

Do you read blogs? I mean other than this one. I do. People are always posting links to blogs on Facebook, and sometimes they’re worth reading. Sometimes I read them because I’m curious. Sometimes I read them to stay in the loop or get an idea. Sometimes I read them because I have a sneaking suspicion I already know what they’ll say. 

I read a blog that was linked to Facebook this week called “15 Things Jesus Didn’t Say.” The name of the blog post and the picture used in the link caught my attention.  I wondered if it wouldn’t be another one of the abundant posts today that use verses out of context. Since that was my expectation, I wasn’t surprised when I began reading.

Here’s the link to the original post, but I’ll copy the content of it here. There was no introduction or conclusion, nothing but the title and these 15 “isms” that Jesus supposedly didn’t say. Take a look...

15 things Jesus Didn’t Say:

“For God was so disgusted with the world and you that he gave his one and only Son.”

“I have come to bring you a new religion.”

“By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have correct theology.”

“If anyone would come after me, let him disparage all other religions and their followers.”

“If you love me, you will regularly attend a church of your choice… within reason.”

“Blessed are the tithers for they shall be called the children of God.”

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done in Heaven after the earth goes up in flames and destroyed.”

“You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor,’ which means the people with whom you attend church and relate to in your Christian sub-culture.”

“In my Father’s house there are a limited number of rooms. But no worries, there is plenty of room in Hell.”

“The kingdom of God has come!… Well, not exactly. I mean, not completely. Let’s face it, the really-real kingdom comes after we die. Hang in there. It won’t be long.”

“And you will know the truth and the truth will make you superior to all the other simpletons who never learned Greek or Hebrew.”

“You are the light of the world… well… in a sinful-filthy-scum kind of way.”

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you a checklist of things to do and not do in order to remain in God’s favor.”

“For God so loved the world… you know like theoretically… as in, God loves the big ‘W’-world. But when it come to you specifically, that are quite a few things that would need to change for God to actually and specifically love… or even like… YOU.”

“He appeared to his disciples over a period of 40 days and spoke about how to incorporate his life and teaching as a 501(c)3, and go into all the earth to build mega-churches in his name.”

I want to use this post as an example of how much authority this kind of “argument” appears to give the one using it. It’s dangerous, but can be effective. People who don’t know the bible or the God of bible well are susceptible to reading a post like this and saying, “you know, that’s right! Those words never came out of Jesus’ mouth!” Just because someone appeals to the life and teachings of Jesus doesn’t automatically make what they say true. We have to use our critical thinking skills to sift their words.

Every word of the bible is inspired by God (2 Timothy 3), and the point is that his principles are clear, even in cases where we don’t have exact words from Jesus’ mouth. It’s always going to be more valuable and beneficial for you to study what the bible does teach rather than coming up with things it doesn’t. 

It’s a good test to read through posts like this one and see how many errors you can pick out. Can you see any false ideas that are presented here? Can you counter any of these statements with scripture that exists? Do you know any principles that are being ignored and rendered less important because Jesus doesn’t appear to have directly spoken them? 

This is your foundation. If you don’t know the bible, you’re susceptible. Take this as an opportunity to “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15, ESV). 

Love,

Meredith