Monday, January 23, 2012

Jesus Christ Superstar

Being that I’m asked everyday why I’m Christian and what I believe, and that my French is not strong enough to explain the depths of my faith, I’ve realized how infrequently I am asked this question.  Or questions such as why was Christ cruicified? Or how is Christ the son of God but also God?  I feel like I’m in seminary.  These are difficult concepts to explain in English much less in French.  I believe, however, it’s the same for many people in general.  Explaining what you believe and why you believe it leaves many speechless.


So. 


Without going into deep exegesis of scripture explaining the old testament vs. new testament prophecies and such…..


Why do I follow Christ? 


Because he is worth following.
 
He came to change the religious, social, and political climate of his times.  He was a revolutionary.  His words led movements, not only in his times, but also in our times.  He taught us how to live in communion with one another.  Leaders such as Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, have looked to his words and passion to spur them and others to action.  Christ was so successful at mobilization, empowerment, and motivation that thousands of years later I am writing of him in a blog post as a faithful follower, moved by his work.  His words, life, and death are still profoundly changing lives.  Not only was his death the powerful act of a martyr, dying that we might live, but his LIFE is one worth emulating. 

I follow Christ because he is the only God who came down to earth to experience humanity WITH us.  God, in his infinite boundless existence, chose to become human.  He has been where I’ve been.  Not only that but he chooses to endow us, forever flawed humans, to be his hands and feet in the earth.  I love that Christ chose the "least of these" to be leaders.  I love the beautiful contradiction that he chooses to empower imperfect people to carry out his perfect plan.   And just as he chose us, he gives us the freedom to choose him.  He created the world and let us run free, choosing not to be an overbearing creator, intently micromanaging our movements.  Instead we can hear how he warmly shows us the way in his voice. 

You know that voice.  So many religions teach that God is a mighty judge in the sky waiting to smack you with lightning bolts of judgment.  But he is far from that picture.  The God of all creation lives with us.  He lives inside each and every one of us.  He is in you.  His glory takes shape in you.  I feel his spirit in me, constantly tweaking my actions, thoughts, and plans, until I get it right, empowering me to do… something….different.  We ALL hear his voice.  That whisper, or gut feeling, the anxiety you feel when you KNOW with all your heart something is absolutely wrong or extremely right.  God is not far away.  He is not untouchable.  He is Elohim, God with us, he is the Holy Spirit, speaking to us, he is mother, father, best friend, and companion.   That voice has led me and taught me in some of the worst situations and most turmoil filled points of my life.  But also in the most blissful times as well.  We must learn to follow that voice.  To all ends of the Earth, in all things.  Our dreams and futures await depending on our simple obedience to that voice.  So let’s stop calling “it” intuition, or “something told me”  and the millions of other things people from around the world have consistently over time ascribed to “it”---and attribute it to the one, our God, Holy Spirit, God in us.

Knowing Christ has given me wisdom, confidence, and an outlook of the world that allows me to know though we are hopelessly flawed, anything is possible.  I have seen miracles happen large and small.  Like the little boy we met during my time in Ghana who was born with a malformed leg unable to walk, but after prayer was able to run.  Or the asthma that used to keep me from breathing full, deep breathes and regularly gave me asthma attacks, gone after a weekend prayer retreat, never to return.  Incurable diseases disappear with doctor’s notes to prove their non-existence. 

My life has changed dramatically in the journey of knowing and following Christ and the spirit of God inside us all.

This is not at all comprehensive and I could continue on and on, but all in all......He’s not a bad choice as a leader J

Know what you believe.  And know why you believe. 


Why?


Because you never know who may need your faith when they have lost theirs.


Several nights ago, when I asked Mah Benti to eat with me, she asked me if I was going to church this week.  I said I’ll try to, and I asked her what she prays when she prays.  She began a beautiful Arabic song, in a falsetto soprano voice.  After she finished I asked her the meaning of the prayer.  She said it’s a salutation to God.   She then asked me what I pray.   I told her I pray each day, and throughout the day to God about everything.  For the health of my family, for the health of my friends, for my life.  I tell God I love him and ask him what he wants of me. 

Mah Benti proceeded to tell me that if I pray with weave in my hair, God will not listen because he doesn’t like that. And if you die with weave in your hair, God will send you to hell.   She said but you’re a Christian so it’s ok for you to pray with weave, just not Muslims.  “Who said that?”  I said.  “Where in the Koran does it say that?”  She said, “The Imam said it, not the Koran.”  I asked her, “How is that true then?  Is the Imam God?  When you die your body remains on earth, right? But your spirit goes to heaven.  So why would God be concerned with your body? I believe God loves all his people and he is a God of grace, correct?  If he is then he doesn’t care what his people are wearing, he only wants them!  Just like your family loves you regardless of what you wear.  It’s the same with God.”

She nodded her head at all my interjections, and afterwards, she leaned in to me and whispered, “Me?  I love Christians.  Because when you pray to Christ, everything is quick.  In Christianity, when you are sick, you can pray to Christ immediately and he takes care of it.  In Islam, there are too many things you have to do to get to God.  I want to know Christ.  But it isn’t possible for me to go to church now because I am young and I must do what my family does, but when I grow up I want to go to church.”

I told her that you know you can pray to Christ anytime you want to, in your room, in your head at school; God is with you at anytime.  She whispered, “Yes, I want to pray like this, but it’s impossible for me because I am Muslim and I don’t have the bible also.”

Because I saw she was a bit scared of talking about this outloud with her family, I asked her if she wanted to talk in my room.  She said yes.  She came to my room and started telling me how she loved Jesus Christ, but needed help to become a Christian.  I told her if you love Christ, you don’t need my help to become a Christian.  He is already with you.  “How?!”  she exclaimed. “How is he with me if I don’t know the bible, I don’t go to a church, and I am Muslim?”  “Mah Benti,” I started.  “If you believe with all your heart in Christ and you believe he is your savior, your one love, that he is God, then you already are a Christian.  You can be Muslim by culture because your family is Muslim, but those are only rituals to you if you don’t believe in them in your heart.  What you believe in your heart is what is true!  Christ is already in your heart!  And he is with you because you believe!”

Her eyes grew bigger and bigger as I spoke.  And just at the time, my sister in-law, who had been listening right outside my room with her child, came in my room and began a long story of how she had been sick recently and had been to the doctor this morning to get a shot.  She wanted me to pray for her.  Just then her drunk husband walked into my room, carrying on about a lot of nonsense, hiccupping through the entire conversation.  And as he made a big scene, embarrassed, she quietly slipped out.  Mah Benti also told me she was going to bed after he finally left my room.  But not before she turned around to tell me that he was an insult to the family and to his wife.  I hugged Mah Benti, told her I loved her, and sent her to bed.

After she left, I took some time to pray.  My heart was heavy for my sister-in law as I saw her in her own way reach out to me for something.  What I know from the time I have lived here is that this particular my brother in law is abusive, and often times I wake up to my sister in laws screams.  I’ve seen him hit her once, which is not uncommon in this culture.  There are days I walk out of my room to leave for school and my, “Bonjour, Ca va?” is met with a slow head shake, as she diverts her eyes to the ground.  I’ve noticed that she is treated like an outcast amongst the family.  As if she is beneath them.

I know that for my safety, getting in the middle of that situation, would not be the best idea.  And I’m not going to tell her to leave her husband or even talk to her about the abuse, subjects that would be disgraceful to address.  Statistically, 84% of Guinean women believe that their husbands are supposed to beat them if they perform poorly.  Leaving him at this time would be a huge feat considering she has no outside family.  But what I do hope to offer her, for now, is hope.   Hope in something greater than her, beyond herself and her situation. 

Hope that someone loves her.  Even if it’s just a girl from half way around the world living next door to her now.


There is always somewhere to begin.


So many say they believe in something, in Christ, in God, in Atheism, in Islam, in Hinduism but when asked why, they stumble to express the source.  If you are a Christian, take the time to truly search your heart, the bible, prayer, and find why you believe in Christ.  Go beyond, “he died for my sins”, or “because he’s the only truth”.  Go beyond the usual answers that the Church has regurgitated for centuries.  Make it personal.  One reason why so many people are turned off by Christianity is because most of us have no clue what we believe or why we believe it.  We believe because we believe……and that’s it.  People need to see more than just words, more than just religious acts.  Religion often has choked the life out of the beauty and bliss of the graceful and fiery revolutionary who gave his life that we might truly begin to live ours. 

If you don’t believe in Christ, I urge you to take a step past what you’ve heard from church, religious leaders, and religious Christians and find who he really is.  The truth, passion, and simplicity of his life and death is far more compelling than most of what is popularly echoed.  It’s worth it.  Believe me :-) 

Just Cause It's Funny

One of my colleagues works in a village about 30 minutes outside of Labé returned from site visits with the following stories.

The last night before leaving her site, her counterpart sits her down and the following conversation ensused:

Mamadou:  So we’re friends Roxanne, right?

Roxanne:  Yes, of course, I consider us friends.

Mamadou:  And we trust each other right? 

Roxanne:  Yes Mamadou, I trust you, and I hope that you trust me and I’m looking forward to our partnership.

Mamdou:  Than can you tell me this………are their VAMPIRES in the United States?!!!

Roxanne:  (confused look holding back laughter) No there are not vampires in the US.

Mamdou: WAIT I’ll show you!!

He leaves the room and returns several minutes later with a picture of a Native American.

Mamadou:  VAMPIRES!!  VAMPIRES!!

Roxanne: (who by the way IS NATIVE AMERICAN) No, that is not a vampire Mamadou.  Those are the original Americans. 

Mamadou:  Not a vampire?

Roxanne:  No not a vampire.


Friday, January 20, 2012

Contradictory Oxymorons

Anybody who is African or lived in Africa for some time knows there are some things you see and hear that are just distinctly African. 

Everyday I see something interesting.  And by interesting I mean strange and amusing. 

I have daily random goat sightings.  In my yard, outside of cafes, on the steps of the mosques, on rooftops, following me home, strapped to the top bush taxis underneath suitcases.  I have at least 20 pics of random goats.  There’s a website and a theme song in the works.  Stay tuned.

Guinean movies are hysterical.  What’s funniest about them is the random American songs they will have as the sound track for the most uncomplimentary points of the movie.  Like the title song from the Titanic playing as the main character creeps into the room to kill the young lady sleeping inside.  Yes.  Celine Dion playing in the background of the most sinister scene of the movie.  Or “La Bamba” playing when a good husband finds out his wife is pregnant by his best friend.  “La Bamba”?  Seriously?  I couldn’t help but thinking I’m sure (insert name of guy who wrote and sang La Bamba) could not have put money on his song playing decades later in a movie spoken completely in Sousou half way around the world.  No one in the room knows why I’m laughing.

I regularly get at least 3 or 4 marriage proposals per day.  Going out dancing is hilarious.  Here is the convo:

Random Guy: Come here American girl.
Me: (turn to my right) yes?
Random Guy:  (in his best English) what is your name?
Me:  My name is Fatou Sylla
Random Guy:  (back to French) You are beautiful.  I love you.
Me:  But you just met me.
Random Guy:  I want to make you my wife and I love you.
Me:  (awkwardly smiles and walks away)

He will leave his post at the bar to dance next to me and friends for the rest of the night and repeat the fact that he loves me.  Oh I didn’t mention he’s at least in his 40’s or 50’s.  And I will be his 3rd wife.

The resale of Goodwill rejects in Africa is another source of constant hilarity.  The biggest guy in Dubreka walks around with a hot pink shirt that says, “I’m a girl and I love it”.

I looked at my flashlight last night and noticed it had a picture of an american flag, a full length picture of the Guinean president.....and was made in Russia.  Quoi?

Generosity goes to a whole new level here.  I told my family I love tomatoes the first day and that I loved the salad they served me.  Since then I have salad every night, with tomatoes.  I said in passing that I loved pineapples and the next day, despite the cost of the pineapples, my dad served me 3 with my dinner.  The selfless generosity I see here on a daily basis is something I want to immolate. 

But then it just gets a bit crazy sometimes.  I was sitting outside eating dinner with my father and noticed there was what sounded like a TV in my brother in laws room.  I had never seen one there before, so I asked my father, “Is that a TV in Mohammed’s room?”  He said yes.  For the next hour they worked on fixing the broken generator, pulling a table outside, and setting the TV up all so that I could watch it outside while I ate dinner.  No, no, no, no I insist!  I’m thinking about saying I love horses and seeing what happens.

Or how about the constant barrage of breasts, flailing in the wind, that are whipped out in the most inopportune times.  Like taking off your shirt in the middle of church, or at the market, or during a conversation about your organization.  I find myself saying in my head, “You’re not taking off your shirt are you, you’re not pulling your breasts out right now, please not now…..wow yep you are.”  But knees? No knees are far too taboo to show in public.

Aside from the funny incidences of my everyday life, I have some of the most peacefully, beautiful snapshots.

Walking to school late in the morning, as I am usually late, the sun rising behind the mountains as the school children gather and gossip on their way to school.  It’s breathtaking.  The road that I walk each day to the Peace Corps training site is draped with low hanging large mango trees and women peddling their street side wares.  Everyone tells me, the “fote” or white person, “Bonjour!” or “Tana mouri” in Sousou.  And everyone gets a kick out of me speaking their language. 

I love how my family will often go out of their way to give me something that reminds me of home.  I came to dinner yesterday and there was a single golden delicious, yellow apple sitting at my table setting.  My family laughed hysterically as I tripped out over this apple.  It was crisp, juicy, amazing, and the first apple I’ve seen in a month.  Definition of bliss.

New Years isn’t as celebratory here as in the states or other countries.  But my organizational counterpart while I’m in Dubreka, the leader of a women’s empowerment cooperative, invited me and 3 of my project partners to her home for lunch on New Year’s eve.  We sat down in her beautiful courtyard to a liter bottle of a cold pink drink.  We poured them into 3 tall American glasses to find to our delight that it was a frozen smoothie made from the fruit of the Baobab tree!!  OMG!  It was amazing and the most refreshing thing I’ve tasted in country.  We had an amazing spread that kept coming: keke (shaved cassava with onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers), sautéed onions, fried chicken and fish, papaya, and pasta.  After engorging ourselves, we relaxed in the shade on comfortable leather couches and had a moving conversation about our pasts, the present, and our dreams, relishing the slight breeze that cooled our brows.  Sigh. Lovely.

The week before last, I met a 14 year old girl who is literally a mini Wiatta and I know I’m not supposed to have favorites….buuuuut, lol.  Her name is Martha.  But she said she wanted an American name from me so I call her Jessica now, which produces a burst of giggles.  She brought me to her house, where I met her equally intelligent, independent, and beautiful sisters.  I found also that her family is Protestant Christian, living within a community of Muslims.  They invited me to their church (yes there are 2 churches in Dubreka!) which meets underneath a huge, striking Baobab tree 2 blocks behind my house.  The Sunday before I left for Labe, I found that protestant in Guinea means non-denominational.  I went to service and it was enchanting, filled with drumming, dancing, singing, and praying.  I was absolutely moved to tears watching my people praise God so openly and with such fervor.  I don’t think I will ever tire of the off key, random arrangements of worship music of the West African churches I’ve attended.  It seems as if they sing with such passion unconcerned with pitch, tune, or sequence. 

Carelessly beautiful and uncommonly inspiring.

And this is how I have felt about Africa in general for a long time.  Dusty streets and byways are plagued by littering as a result of the lack of mass trash disposal systems.  Shallow well water systems contaminated by human waste make drinking and even bathing a bit scary.  Shaking hands with people immediately brings up thoughts of hand sanitizer and the absolutely gorgeous and gregarious children are often carrying germs that I try to block out of my mind as they playfully paw my face.  The lack of critical thinking skills due to a Stone Age rote memorization school system and the desperate need for good teachers makes conversations often circular.  And the list continues.  Yet even with the systemic problems endemic in many African countries, I am still utterly in love with this continent and my people.  I haven’t quite found how to describe how my heart breaks over and over again--and is also continually healed.  Africa is challengingly beautiful. 

My mother and father repeatedly tell me in the states to stop and smell the roses.  I’m often running haggard at home, trying to get to the next goal, the next project, the next vacation, the next country.  But without regular internet, electricity, and with the intent goal of learning a new culture, I’ve been able to do here what is difficult for me in the states.  There’s so much to see and take in here, it’s impossible not to automatically slow down, and breathe.  I realized yesterday sitting at the breakfast table eating my bread and drinking coffee, feeling the breeze and just looking out the window, taking in my surroundings and the fact that I’m here….that I don’t get to do this in the states.   All together, the funny, the negative, the blissfully beautiful, is my home.  And I want to enjoy every minute. 

Stop.  Breathe. Feel.  Take the time to see more of your community, your neighbors, your friends, your family, your surroundings than just point a and b in your schedule.  You’ve heard it before, you know it’s good for you.  But still you don’t do it.  Make the time.

Because it’s necessary to stay alive.

My prayer for you is that in this simple act you will find something that causes your heart to break over and over again…..and be continually healed :-)

Monday, January 2, 2012

A Call to Prayer

Everyday at 6am, my alarm clock is the 30 min Muslim call to prayer, “L’appel du Muezin”, calling all good Muslims to prayer loudly above the city.  There are about 8 mosques in the small suburb I live in and each morning at 6 am, and 4 other times throughout the day, you can hear the muezzin calling the city to commit to their Muslim duty of 5 times daily prayer.

And when I hear the loud, abrupt, Arabic chants through my window, I curse my host family for building their home next to a mosque.  Then  I wake up, open my bible, and pray to my God as well—for my family, my friends, my life, my purpose, and just simple thanks and adoration of the one who’s opened so many doors for me.  It’s become an interesting reminder that prayer needs to be at the forefront of my day.

One of the beautiful ways in which an Islamic country has made room for my Christian faith.

Coming to a completely Muslim country, I didn’t know how, or even if, I would be able to express my faith.  Speaking with the Peace Corps representative before I received my invitation to Guinea, she asked me considering how important my faith was to me, would I be willing to serve somewhere where I would be unable to express my faith openly or attend a regular place of worship.  Since leaving my church in Atlanta and due to my transient work as a flight attendant, I’ve been on a journey of finding what it means to practice my faith outside of a traditional church setting, something that had been engrained in me since I became a Christian. 


Again, all things come together :-)


I emphatically assured her that for me church is not a building or a congregation, but inside me.  Wherever and however I build community sharing and building faith is church –across oceans or next door.  But as I said those words that I deeply believe, a hint of fear rose in me wondering what it would be like to live somewhere where practicing what you believe is not free.  I internally began to prepare myself for the worst of that possibility.  

I have never been more amazed at how this is the complete opposite of what has been true for me since I’ve integrated more and more into this community.  I have had opportunity after opportunity to talk about my faith, and it has all been initiated by Muslims seeking to know more about why and how someone could ever believe in Christ as God. 

And in the process I’m learning more and more about Islam and what they do believe.

I didn’t realize that Muslims are just as evangelistic, if not more than, as Jehova’s Witnesses.  Each night before I eat with my family, the grand l’imam of Dubreka comes to have an hour (or more) long conversation with me about why I should be Muslim.  Once he found out that I was Vai (my family’s people, a tribe in Northeastern Liberia), he couldn’t understand why I was not Muslim, because Vai people are traditionally Muslim.  My French is limited in conversations of this depth so they don't get very far, and don't explain much, but the conversations are nevertheless interesting.  Here is a snippet of our usual conversations (translated into English for your reading pleasure):

L’imam:  Fahtu Sylla!  Why are you not Muslim?
Me:  Why are you not Christian L’Imam?
L’imam:  What kind of question is that Fatou? Because there is no other way, so why are you not Muslim?
Me:  I believe there is another way. I have a relationship with Christ. I believe God lives inside all of us.
L’imam:  But how can you have a relationship with Christ, he is dead.  And God cannot live inside of you!
Me:  I believe he still lives through us.
L’imam:  (he ignores that last statement) But your family is Muslim, how is it that you have left your faith?
Me:  My family converted to Christianity when my great grandfather wanted to become a politician in Liberia (Very interesting story!  Ask my family or read, “The First African Diplomat”….good stuff).  
L’imam:  (again ignoring my last statement) You need to marry a good Muslim Guinean man.
Me:  But how will I marry a Muslim if I’m Christian?
L’imam:  Christ was a prophet and  good so you can still marry a Muslim.  Then you can become Mulsim.
Me:  I don’t believe that Christ was a good person or a prophet, I believe he is God.  
L’imam:  God cannot eat, God cannot sleep, God cannot live, God cannot run, God cannot love, God cannot cry….God is not human!  So how can this be true.

And the rest of the conversation is us going back and forth on this last point until he realizes the comedy of it and we laugh.  He tells me I’m difficult but he likes me because I speak candidly and he will return.  And he always does, sometimes with pamphlets like a good evangelist.  I mostly continue the conversation because, though unresolvable, it’s good French practice and I get a clearer picture of the Muslim faith.

Though this conversation seems futile, it has had a ripple effect.  My 13 year old little sister, Mah Benti, who I have noticed has been listening in on my conversations with the imam, walked with me to the market after dark one night on a mission to buy some fried plantain.  The following conversation ensued:

Mah Benti:  Are you Christian?
Me:  Yes, I am Christian.  Are you Muslim?
Mah Benti:  Yes.  Because my family is Muslim.   I am a Sylla and because I am a Sylla, I must be Muslim. 
Me:  Do you pray at the Mosque?
Mah Benti:  No.  But I love church.  Because I love the way Christians pray.
Me:  Have you been to church?
Mah Benti:  No, we  are Sylla and so we are Muslim.  But I don’t pray at the mosque.

She changed the subject, but I have much more time to find the other pieces to that puzzle :-)

Every other night I have long conversations with my little brother Modia, in which he either talks about hip hop and breakdancing, development in Africa, France, or Islam.  Mah Benti is of course always close by.  The most recent conversation was about how it is impossible to know God.  I relayed I know God because I talk to him as my friend and I read of his nature in the bible.  I know God because I can see his creation and we are made in his image.  I know God because he has shown himself to me in a million different ways.  My question was is it not the same for you?  This was met with repeated exclamations that I was silly for thinking one could know God.  He is God!!  No one knows him!!  One of my mother’s chimed in on this one, “Of course you can’t know God you silly girl!  He is God!”  This one finished with Mah Benti telling me I would go to hell if I didn’t pray and give to others.  Again the convo always closes with laughing and eating :-)

I was completely surprised to find a little old church about 6 blocks from my house!  I went to the Catholic service a few Sundays ago.   It was long, stuffy, boring, and I could only understand about 30% of it, but it was great meeting and seeing that Christians do exist here!  C’est bien!   As I walked up to the church a few Sundays ago an hour early, I met 3 young men sitting on the steps outside.  I sat next to them in silence, until one of them, on his phone, began playing the Sister Act version of “Joyful, Joyful” on his phone in English!  I started singing immediately and we became quick friends.  His name is David, as I’ve noticed that the Christians I meet all have Christian names versus African names. 


I also met a lovely young lady named Helene Mamy whose mother is Liberian and father is Guinean.  She grew up in Guinea, but is from the forest region which is the part of Guinea on the border with Liberia.  It’s about a 14 hour drive from where I am now.  She told me that the church was built in 1904 or 1905 by a Lebonese man.  But it was later abandoned.  The students who come from the Forest region to Dubreka to study at the University for the Arts re-founded the church.  So most of the members are young college students!  My kind of people.  Not only are they Christians and founded a church far from their home in a Muslim town, which warrants to me some praise and respect, but they are all involved in the arts!  Acting, writing, singing, music, film studies, literature studies, etc.  I can’t wait to find out more of what it’s like to live in a Muslim community, yet practice Christianity.

The way Christianity and Islam interact with one another here is interesting, and I’m beginning to find they are more fluid than I originally believed.

It’s amazing how when you know who you are and what you believe, you can give yourself the liberty to open up to other cultures and beliefs.  Fear is the exact opposite of love because it keeps you from loving people who are different than you.  Fear breeds isolation. 

In these little chance meetings, I’ve seen even more how God is everywhere and in all things.  He’s in America, in Knoxville, TN, in Atlanta, and in Guinea—seeing that his child still has a community of faith surrounding her.

Open yourself up to see God in unexpected places.

Because….

Well just because :-)