Wow! That's way too long not to have blogged!
A thought has been lingering in my mind - the visit to the hostel boys at Brahmanbaria. it's a pretty typical hostel arrangement. Underprivileged boys whow would otherwise miss out on an education live at a hostel where they are fed and safe and they get an education - all the way thru high school
Westerners (predominantly) sponsor these kids and they exchange letters with them to encourage them
We went there in early December and we took Christmas presents. Little bags of $2 Shop toys which we carefully organised to be about the same size with similar small gifts in them appropriate to either a younger or older child.
The boys dutifully lined up from youngest to oldest to receive their gifts (youngest to oldest) and shook the hands of each of us to say thanks
And it was all very weird.
These kids really do have NOTHING. They had a damaged cricket bat and some 2nd hand gloves and about 4 wickets to share amongst 50 boys. The "warden" also proudly showed me their sports ball. Yes - one ball.
They did have a couple of musical instruments and the odd boy had a small gift that a sponsor had got thru to them - but that was it
And here we were linign them up to receive their bag of gifts - and I guess we felt really good about what we were doing... at the time...
But now, thinking back it feels weird.
What was the point of these gifts? "here - we have money you have none - let us buy you presents?" "Why?" "Because it's Xmas" "Yeah...?" "And you should get stuff at Xmas" "Why?" "Cos it's good to have stuff...and Xmas is when we give stuff...and you don't have any stuff...?" "OK?"
Maybe I'm being too philosophical and maybe it didn't feel this way then - but now it feels like we were giving "stuff" to them because we felt bad that we had stuff and they didn't - and that it would in some way make us feel better about our stuff if even these poor kids had a bit of stuff too... that we'd be bringing them up to our level... and how good we were to do that...
We did talk to these kids and get to know them - and I am sure that their lives are better because of that hostel - they are certainly filled with more hope... but somehow now it feels like giving them things cheapened our relationship with them...
Not sure...
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
So where to from here?
Ok so I'm beginning to get an idea of what I learned (although that will always change and grow) and I think I have (somewhat of) a handle on how I've been affected by it all
The question (as K often likes to ask me) is: So, what?
I've had this experience, it's affected me, I believe it was an inspired and deliberate one. What am I now going to do differently as a result of it?
Steve is K's old pastor. He blogs here and often about some quite heady topics to do with church and faith and leadership but on this occasion in particular he posted this which explores the question of what do you do about those less fortunate than yourself?
This I think is relevant to me right now.
I often trip myself up before I start. I think I should respond and then I ask - how much should I respond? How far should I go - like I posted a few weeks ago - do I sell all and become a missionary?
And the final result is that I tend to make it all too hard and do nothing - which is the worst outcome
Perhaps the answer is just to respond. To do one thing differently and see where that goes?
Unlike one of the objections in the linked video above I really don't believe I don't have to do anything. Of doing something, I am convinced, this is a must.
We had a sponsor child finish up last year - he finished school and went to a tertiary Tourism training school. We have 2 others and I thought - well two is probably enough because we just had a baby
But maybe it's not. I may not be ready to sell all now but if I start small?
The question (as K often likes to ask me) is: So, what?
I've had this experience, it's affected me, I believe it was an inspired and deliberate one. What am I now going to do differently as a result of it?
Steve is K's old pastor. He blogs here and often about some quite heady topics to do with church and faith and leadership but on this occasion in particular he posted this which explores the question of what do you do about those less fortunate than yourself?
This I think is relevant to me right now.
I often trip myself up before I start. I think I should respond and then I ask - how much should I respond? How far should I go - like I posted a few weeks ago - do I sell all and become a missionary?
And the final result is that I tend to make it all too hard and do nothing - which is the worst outcome
Perhaps the answer is just to respond. To do one thing differently and see where that goes?
Unlike one of the objections in the linked video above I really don't believe I don't have to do anything. Of doing something, I am convinced, this is a must.
We had a sponsor child finish up last year - he finished school and went to a tertiary Tourism training school. We have 2 others and I thought - well two is probably enough because we just had a baby
But maybe it's not. I may not be ready to sell all now but if I start small?
Sunday, May 4, 2008
An idea taking shape
I haven't been sleeping much recently - the plus side has been that I have been thinking more
As I was rocking Brea back to sleep in the wee small hours the other day I had another thought about the trip and it's outcome for me
As a part of filming the trip I recorded video diaries of my thoughts in response to the things I saw and did. Because I thought the documentary I intended to make was about seeing experienced people in action thru the eyes of naive and inexperienced eyes a lot of my musings were on the overseas workers.
I was reluctant to use the term "Xn" or "Missionary" - partly for security reasons - but largely because I had an uneasy feeling about those terms.
I think the main source of my unease is that the history of Xn missions in the world is not always pleasant. There were the unintentional side effects (like influenza) and downright nasty ones (like annexing of lands and marginalising of cultures and peoples)
I was never really sure about my reasons for going on the trip. To a large extent it felt like (and still does) poverty tourism - but despite that I really felt sure I should go. Something inside me compelled me to look beyond that and actually go.
I think now I'm beginning to see why.
I maintain that people of all walks of life and faith are equally important to God. That all people, regardless of label, have something useful they can teach me because He regards them all and works in all their lives - and consequently I can be of service to them by the same logic.
The history of mission (to some extent) has been about "us vs them". But what I have desired to see is "journeying together". And I can see now that that is what the overseas workers in these places are trying to do.
To live amongst the people. To learn. And to serve.
And this has rekindled my hope. A hope that I'm not alone in this desire. That it's not wrong. That I am on a (sometimes painful) journey to a new way of thinking and it's an inspired one.
That nagging wondering about why i was supposed to go there has begun to have an answer...
As I was rocking Brea back to sleep in the wee small hours the other day I had another thought about the trip and it's outcome for me
As a part of filming the trip I recorded video diaries of my thoughts in response to the things I saw and did. Because I thought the documentary I intended to make was about seeing experienced people in action thru the eyes of naive and inexperienced eyes a lot of my musings were on the overseas workers.
I was reluctant to use the term "Xn" or "Missionary" - partly for security reasons - but largely because I had an uneasy feeling about those terms.
I think the main source of my unease is that the history of Xn missions in the world is not always pleasant. There were the unintentional side effects (like influenza) and downright nasty ones (like annexing of lands and marginalising of cultures and peoples)
I was never really sure about my reasons for going on the trip. To a large extent it felt like (and still does) poverty tourism - but despite that I really felt sure I should go. Something inside me compelled me to look beyond that and actually go.
I think now I'm beginning to see why.
I maintain that people of all walks of life and faith are equally important to God. That all people, regardless of label, have something useful they can teach me because He regards them all and works in all their lives - and consequently I can be of service to them by the same logic.
The history of mission (to some extent) has been about "us vs them". But what I have desired to see is "journeying together". And I can see now that that is what the overseas workers in these places are trying to do.
To live amongst the people. To learn. And to serve.
And this has rekindled my hope. A hope that I'm not alone in this desire. That it's not wrong. That I am on a (sometimes painful) journey to a new way of thinking and it's an inspired one.
That nagging wondering about why i was supposed to go there has begun to have an answer...
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
A midnight epiphany...
So I had a thought in the dark of night...
I've been troubled in the last few weeks trying to figure out what I think about the trip and what I saw and what my response is supposed to be and why I'm still so uneasy.
And a new thought came to me at last to redirect the churn.
When I look at (some of) the people of Dhaka and Kolkata i saw tremendous poverty and suffering. And I feel strongly that something should change for them. It's not right that they should live in thatched huts that get washed away every time it rains.
It's not right that those flood waters bring cholera and that the alluvial land poisons them with arsenic. That young girls get no education - or worse - enslaved as prostitutes. That corrupt officals rip farmers off for crop prices. That when the money runs out they borrow a rickshaw and leave their families for days to go to town to try to eek out a living giving people rides.
But here's the rub...
I need them to keep living that way.
If I want to have the life I have in NZ then someone has to go without.
Clever people have done the math. The way we live in the West is not sustainable. We can't all live on a quarter acre patch surrounded by timber and concrete and aluminium. There isn't enough resource in the world for all of us to live that way. Not enough resource and not enough fuel for energy to process the resource
So I want more for the people of Dhaka - but I'm a hypocrite - because I don't want less for myself.
My 90sqm house is a mansion in the grand scheme of things. Our two 12 year old cars testament to my avarice. My 5 year old telly and $500 surround sound setup and the Toffee Pop bar I just ate from the vending machine is proof positive that I am in the top 10% of wealthy people in the world.
And still I want more.
It's not wicked stuff. I want to take my daughter to the USA to spend time with her grandparents. I bought K a camera for Mother's Day because she's talented with photography and I want her to explore that talent.
I want an education for my daughter. And opportunity. I want to live life to the full - it should be exciting and worthwhile because it's a gift from God.
And to be honest I think hot water coming out of the wall is like the coolest thing ever.
Not all this stuff is bad of course. Most isn't. But in order to get good education and healthcare and hot water in our homes in the west we've somehow had to help ourselves to most of the earth. When did that happen?
If I were to go to Dhaka to "help" to be honest I wouldn't want to give up what I have. And that makes me a hypocrite. Tell people about the good news - and rescue them from their poverty - but to what point?
So, yeah. A new thought.
I've been troubled in the last few weeks trying to figure out what I think about the trip and what I saw and what my response is supposed to be and why I'm still so uneasy.
And a new thought came to me at last to redirect the churn.
When I look at (some of) the people of Dhaka and Kolkata i saw tremendous poverty and suffering. And I feel strongly that something should change for them. It's not right that they should live in thatched huts that get washed away every time it rains.
It's not right that those flood waters bring cholera and that the alluvial land poisons them with arsenic. That young girls get no education - or worse - enslaved as prostitutes. That corrupt officals rip farmers off for crop prices. That when the money runs out they borrow a rickshaw and leave their families for days to go to town to try to eek out a living giving people rides.
But here's the rub...
I need them to keep living that way.
If I want to have the life I have in NZ then someone has to go without.
Clever people have done the math. The way we live in the West is not sustainable. We can't all live on a quarter acre patch surrounded by timber and concrete and aluminium. There isn't enough resource in the world for all of us to live that way. Not enough resource and not enough fuel for energy to process the resource
So I want more for the people of Dhaka - but I'm a hypocrite - because I don't want less for myself.
My 90sqm house is a mansion in the grand scheme of things. Our two 12 year old cars testament to my avarice. My 5 year old telly and $500 surround sound setup and the Toffee Pop bar I just ate from the vending machine is proof positive that I am in the top 10% of wealthy people in the world.
And still I want more.
It's not wicked stuff. I want to take my daughter to the USA to spend time with her grandparents. I bought K a camera for Mother's Day because she's talented with photography and I want her to explore that talent.
I want an education for my daughter. And opportunity. I want to live life to the full - it should be exciting and worthwhile because it's a gift from God.
And to be honest I think hot water coming out of the wall is like the coolest thing ever.
Not all this stuff is bad of course. Most isn't. But in order to get good education and healthcare and hot water in our homes in the west we've somehow had to help ourselves to most of the earth. When did that happen?
If I were to go to Dhaka to "help" to be honest I wouldn't want to give up what I have. And that makes me a hypocrite. Tell people about the good news - and rescue them from their poverty - but to what point?
So, yeah. A new thought.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
I am still alive... and thinking
It's been a while since I posted because I haven't moved terribly far beyond my last lot of thoughts
I've identified more of what I am thinking about - kind of seeing more of what I am looking at.
Starting with the obvious... life in Bangladesh and Kolkata is different to NZ. Things that strike you when you are there: The people in rags, the smell of human waste (at times), the life that happens on the pavement, the fact that the pavement looks like it was built in the 17th century, the vehicles passing the pavement that look like they should be scrapped, the scrap and rubbish between the pavement and the vehicles that piles up, the rats that go thru the piles of scrap at night
But then I get to the less obvious (until now) That a large number of people CHOOSE to dress that way, that the relieving yourself in the street is as cultural as picking your nose and kissing (or not) in public, and so are the street vendors who are actually working, and the collision of old and new is actually quite exciting, and that Auckland streets are only clean because the infrastructure here is better and corruption is lower, and not even the Bengali people like the corruption, but people in NZ litter just as much it's just that we have people we pay to hide that from ourselves...
But there were some things that were not just different...
Young teenage girls 'standing in line', refugees raising families far from homes they can't go back to, a caste system, a pervading mentality of superiority and inferiority, a house for the dying destitutes...
There are others I could comment on but I have already shown myself to be a bigot and an ignoramus probably even in this post...
So this is where I have been and still am...
peace
I've identified more of what I am thinking about - kind of seeing more of what I am looking at.
Starting with the obvious... life in Bangladesh and Kolkata is different to NZ. Things that strike you when you are there: The people in rags, the smell of human waste (at times), the life that happens on the pavement, the fact that the pavement looks like it was built in the 17th century, the vehicles passing the pavement that look like they should be scrapped, the scrap and rubbish between the pavement and the vehicles that piles up, the rats that go thru the piles of scrap at night
But then I get to the less obvious (until now) That a large number of people CHOOSE to dress that way, that the relieving yourself in the street is as cultural as picking your nose and kissing (or not) in public, and so are the street vendors who are actually working, and the collision of old and new is actually quite exciting, and that Auckland streets are only clean because the infrastructure here is better and corruption is lower, and not even the Bengali people like the corruption, but people in NZ litter just as much it's just that we have people we pay to hide that from ourselves...
But there were some things that were not just different...
Young teenage girls 'standing in line', refugees raising families far from homes they can't go back to, a caste system, a pervading mentality of superiority and inferiority, a house for the dying destitutes...
There are others I could comment on but I have already shown myself to be a bigot and an ignoramus probably even in this post...
So this is where I have been and still am...
peace
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Was it or wasn't it?
I've been thinking differently about my trip the last few days.
I've been thinking about what I saw and who I saw. And I realise something now I didn't realise before.
I've been very judgemental of the Bengali people. I went there believing I was going to see poor people. But more than just that - I went there believing the people were poorly.
There's a difference between poor and impoverished. And it's both good and bad.
Sometimes when we describe people as poor I don't think we mean impoverished - we mean inferior. Poor as in quality - not quantity.
Was life in Kolkata as bad as I saw it? Or did I believe it was bad and then saw it that way?
I think I'm starting to see a difference between what I looked at - and what I saw...
I've been thinking about what I saw and who I saw. And I realise something now I didn't realise before.
I've been very judgemental of the Bengali people. I went there believing I was going to see poor people. But more than just that - I went there believing the people were poorly.
There's a difference between poor and impoverished. And it's both good and bad.
Sometimes when we describe people as poor I don't think we mean impoverished - we mean inferior. Poor as in quality - not quantity.
Was life in Kolkata as bad as I saw it? Or did I believe it was bad and then saw it that way?
I think I'm starting to see a difference between what I looked at - and what I saw...
Monday, March 3, 2008
Haunted by an image
It's been a few weeks since I last posted. Being a new parent is tough. Tiring.
It is (as K said to me) both much harder and much more wonderful than you are led to believe.
But my thoughts are slowly coming back to the trip now as I get (marginally) more comfortable negotiating the terrain of parenthood.
For the last week or so there's been an image in my head. An image of the old man. Sitting on the corner of Park Street, Kolkata. Withered and grey. Dressed in rags. We were coming back, from (F) maybe, and we were in a hurry.
It was getting dark. The streets and pavements were bustling-full of commuters and you're dragged along with them.
He was seated cross legged with his back to the traffic.
His arm was outstretched and he was wailing. Begging the passers by for something. Tears on his cheeks.
He was there and he was gone. As I moved on with the crowd I hoped for a fruit stall or a curry stall or something. I would buy him something and take it back to him.
Nothing. Fruit salesman every 15 feet for miles on end in Kolkata - but not on this street.
As the metres droned on it became harder in my head to reconcile going back to him. Should I tell the group to "leave me behind, I was going back?" I should... but I don't.
I made the decision to let it go.
I justified the decision. I can't give him money which is all I have. It won't really help him in any permanent way and it only compounds the problem. Maybe his cry is all an act - maybe that's his shtick? The group needs me - I'm one of the only men in the group and they need a manly escort.
Pathetic really.
In hindsight.
I only saw him for a second. But I will never forget him.
Do you suppose he'd forgive me?
It is (as K said to me) both much harder and much more wonderful than you are led to believe.
But my thoughts are slowly coming back to the trip now as I get (marginally) more comfortable negotiating the terrain of parenthood.
For the last week or so there's been an image in my head. An image of the old man. Sitting on the corner of Park Street, Kolkata. Withered and grey. Dressed in rags. We were coming back, from (F) maybe, and we were in a hurry.
It was getting dark. The streets and pavements were bustling-full of commuters and you're dragged along with them.
He was seated cross legged with his back to the traffic.
His arm was outstretched and he was wailing. Begging the passers by for something. Tears on his cheeks.
He was there and he was gone. As I moved on with the crowd I hoped for a fruit stall or a curry stall or something. I would buy him something and take it back to him.
Nothing. Fruit salesman every 15 feet for miles on end in Kolkata - but not on this street.
As the metres droned on it became harder in my head to reconcile going back to him. Should I tell the group to "leave me behind, I was going back?" I should... but I don't.
I made the decision to let it go.
I justified the decision. I can't give him money which is all I have. It won't really help him in any permanent way and it only compounds the problem. Maybe his cry is all an act - maybe that's his shtick? The group needs me - I'm one of the only men in the group and they need a manly escort.
Pathetic really.
In hindsight.
I only saw him for a second. But I will never forget him.
Do you suppose he'd forgive me?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
