witchdoctors

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 09:44:34 -0500

What is the role of witchdoctors in Mamelodi, South Africa?

Witchdoctors, known as Sangomas and Inyangas, play and active role in many of the cultures in Africa. Sam Ndou, a Pastor at Charity and Faith Mission, talks about the influence that witchdoctors have in Mamelodi, South Africa. Sam also discusses his experimentation with black magic and how he turned from the occult to giving his life to Christ.

Prior to moving to Mamelodi, South Africa I questioned whether spiritual warfare was real. I now have no doubt that spiritual warfare does exist and God fights for us everyday. From my first encounter (read: demons) to discussions with Pastor Sam (watch video above) and the many interactions in between (read: somedays are hard) I have witnessed the struggle with the enemy. As we continue our work in South Africa please continue to pray for our safety and protection.

wS

the give blog

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 14:14:00 -0500

The Give Blog: Two normal people giving away $50,000

Suja and Scott met in South Africa on a mission trip. Inspired by the poverty that surrounded them in Mamelodi they decided that they were going to live life differently. They launched The Give Blog to motivate themselves and others to give more to charity.

Follow their story on The Give Blog.

somedays are hard

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 01:42:35 -0400

Warning: This is an angry post.

We spent the last two days doing tent clinics in the township of Mamelodi. The first day in Nellmapius and the second in the informal settlement of Phomollongh, which is essentially a squatter’s camp. There is a mix of different cultures living in the informal settlements under very harsh conditions: no electricity, unemployment around 90%, everyone living in poorly constructed shacks built so close together that the dirt road is squeezed, smaller and smaller, the deeper you go into the settlement, eventually turning into a walking path. People fend for themselves. The concept of ‘survival of the fittest’ rules. At night the camp is erie, lit only by barrel fires used for warmth and light. The streets are dangerous with crime. I can only image what it wold be like spending the night in such a place. The settlement is anything but peaceful.

Phomollongh means peace and rest.

About an hour into our day at Phomollongh a women approached me about her neighbor, a 29 year old woman. She wanted to get her neighbor to our clinic because she was very sick. The woman couldn’t walk and she wanted us to go to her shack and get her. Due to safety issues and lack of a proper transport vehicle we do not generally do this. I asked the woman about her neighbor. How sick is she? What are her symptoms? Can someone bring her to the clinic? What she said next about knocked me off my feet. I have been exposed to a lot spending time in the township and doing many mobile clinics, but...

Here is where the anger starts.

The woman calmly explained to me that her neighbor is very sick and very weak. She cannot get out of bed on her own. The neighbors help her go to the bathroom and shower. When her brother goes to work the men from the community come over and rape her, over and over, everyday. This woman is so weak she can’t defend herself, she can’t even scream. What?? First, I can’t even comprehend the situation. I am angry at the men. Then I realize that the same neighbors that help her don’t defend her from the rape. I am angry at them. Very angry. Suddenly, I hate this place. I hate the township. I hate the people. I am overwhelmed with anger.

The initial flood of emotion quickly turned to compassion. I wanted to help this girl. Two of our team and a counselor, accompanied by the neighbor, went to the shack where this woman lived. When we knocked on the door a man answered, it was her brother. What was he doing to protect her? I was angry. The next moment a girl appeared. She looked to be about fourteen years old; it was the 29 year old woman. She was shaking. Someone brought her a broken chair. Her brother brought her medical papers, she has Epilepsy. The counselor asked if they would accept Christ so that she could pray for them. They agreed. She prayed. A tear rolled down my cheek.

How do we get her to the clinic? Her brother offered to carry her on his back. Now you want to help? We decided to carry her in the chair. The distance wasn’t too far, but we walked through large potholes in the dirt road, over mounds of garbage and through small openings between shacks to get to the clinic. Straight to the front of the line. She was instantly swarmed by loving people. She was well taken care of and many of us prayed for her. The doctors spent time with her.

Then as quick as she came she was gone. Just another patient...

I am glad that we were able to get her to the clinic. I am glad that we could love on her and pray for her. I am sad that she has to go back to her shack and back to the daily life of lying in bed waiting for the daily rape. No one to protect her, no one to love her...

I am sad, I am angry, I am hurt. I feel helpless, I want to help. I realize that I can’t.

Somedays are really hard. Somedays are really, really hard.

On those days I pray.

wS

not a leg to stand on

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 04:52:01 -0400

Today I walked right by a man with only one leg who was panhandling for money. I guess it doesn’t really matter that he only has one leg. I walked right by him, ignoring that he even existed. He tried to get my attention to give his sales pitch, ”Sir, can I have a minute of your time?” I walked onward. I walked on as if his problems didn’t exist. Maybe its the constant ‘sales pitch’ that I have become desensitized to; constantly being approached for money. Maybe its me. I have prayed that I would never get used to the poverty and the struggling that surrounds me in Mamelodi. I fear that I am.

God never lets me off easy and today was no different.

My errand was an out and back, meaning that I had to walk past him again. It was when I approached him the second time that it hit me. I looked up and saw him, still standing there. Our eyes met awkwardly from about 50 feet, he quickly looked away. He knew I had just treated him as if he was invisible. An overwhelming feeling of shame hit me like a brick. I walked toward him. This time I stopped. He cut his ‘pitch’ to the bare minimum and got right to the point, “Can you spare anything?”. I handed him 5 Rand; the equivalent of 75 cents. I wanted to hear his story, I wanted to give him the opportunity to share. I was too ashamed to ask. I asked him if I could take his picture. He didn’t look into the camera. I was too ashamed to tell him that the picture was for me; to remind me. To remind me of how I ignored him and his problems. I handed him another 10 Rand. He smiled.

I learned from a one-legged man that I am the one who doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

wS

burning bush

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 14:56:00 -0400

This is a picture that I hadn’t look at until today: Nicaraguan Wheelchair

Nicaragua 2007: Inaugural basketball game: US missionaries vs. Amigos for Christ

The game was rough. I drove to the hoop, dribbled behind my back, jump shot, landed on someone’s foot. I heard a pop. I thought that I could walk it off. Wrong. Little did I know at the time, but this ankle injury would send my life into a totally new direction.

We had been in Nicaragua for eight days and were headed home the next day. Bummer for me since my ankle looked like someone shoved a softball under my skin. No amount of ice was going to reduce the swelling. Normally a ride to the airport would be no big deal. Except in a third world country where the transportation is a truck usually reserved to transport pigs and chickens. The truck had no seats. We had to stand in the bed holding onto pipe railing; with a few of us standing on a 2x6 wooden bumper. I loved riding in that truck. But not today.

Today I was dreading the four hour standing ride to the airport
bouncing around in the back of a pig truck.

God works is mysterious ways. A local missionary had requested that the truck, that was taking us to the airport, transport a load of supplies back after dropping us off. A women named Meg Boren was going to follow us in her pick-up truck. My friends insisted that I ride with her so that I could sit down and put my foot up (they also insisted that they ride with me). At first I thought they were concerned about me but later I realized that it was the air conditioning that they wanted. The A/C felt good after eight days in the Nica heat, but soon I forgot about it. I was in the moment that would change my life, forever.

Did I say that God works in mysterious ways? I spent four hours hearing an amazing story. Meg sold everything and moved to Nicaragua to dedicate her life to serving the poor. What? Do people do that? I had heard about it, but never actually met someone crazy enough to actually do it. Several months prior I had just been on my first mission trip. Meg sold her house and gave everything else to the poor. She lived in a tent in Nicaragua for ten months while she built a community center and a house with the proceeds. Meg will tell you that it has not been easy, but worth every sacrifice. She has built an incredible ministry: Circle of Empowerment.

God was telling me, through Meg, that it was OK. Meg was my Burning Bush.

I didn’t realize immediately that God had spoken to me through Meg. Nor did I realize that Meg would serve as a catalyst for me to sell everything and move to Africa to serve the underprivileged people of Mamelodi. Meg showed me that normal people are called to serve. There is nothing extraordinary about either of us. But...

In God’s eyes we are perfect for the job.

Thanks Meg. You have served as an inspiration to me and allowed me to find purpose in my life. I live everyday thankful that our paths crossed (not that it was an accident). I hope that I have an opportunity to influence the lives of others as you have influenced mine. I am truly blessed to have been touched by you.

wS

Meg Boren’s ministry: Circle of Empowerment.