Quoted:

Today, my team spent our last day of orientation getting further acquainted with the South African context-- specifically, we wanted to know what kinds of experiences the kids showing up in our Peer Educators' classrooms are having on a daily basis. Most of what we heard was from two of Prevention Time's primary staff, who grew up in the conditions of the kids they were talking about. What they said was fascinating, and heart-breaking-- I typed down their words as fast as I could.

“I wrote my last paper before graduation under the streetlight outside my home because my dad was an alcoholic and turned off the electricity whenever he wanted to go to sleep. ‘I’m not paying for electricity for no-good children!’ But luckily my bedroom window wasn’t too far away from a streetlight, so I opened my curtains wide and turned my notebook towards the light… I wrote for hours that way.”

“Black magic, witch craft… it’s part of our culture. Ancestral worship is very important—it plays a huge role in black people’s lives. They believe that God DOES exist, that he is somewhere—ask anyone if they are a Christian, they might say yes, because they believe that God exists. ‘I hear about it, I know of it, but I’m not PART of it.'"

Apparently, many children that repeatedly fail in school are told by their families, “You’re called to be a sangorma,”-- in other words, a witch doctor. So, often they give into the call; after all, they’re sick of failing school. Also, children that are “called” to be sangormas almost always become homosexual. “When they get called to this sangorma thing, usually, a man will get a female spirit, or a girl will get a male spirit. If I am a girl, my grandfather’s spirit will call ME. So if I walk into a house where I will be a witch doctor, my family will call me ‘Grandpa.’ It’s never a male spirit that goes to a male child, or a female spirit that goes to a female child. It’s always vice versa—after initiation school, sexuality is always confused.”

Ancestral worship is, "...very deep, and very disturbing. It’s darkness, it’s judgment, you OWE—you spend your life living in debt to someone who is not alive, and you can never finish paying the debt... And you can never get out of poverty, because if you get a job, where does the first paycheck go? You have to buy a cow to slaughter it in sacrifice. You don’t open a bank account, you have to sacrifice to the ancestors.”

“Africans respect their ancestors so much that you can never live for yourself… The more you give to your ancestors, the poorer you become, and you can never give enough… It’s an HONOR for a black man to give to an ancestor. When you are alive, you might be useless, but when you die... man. You are the god."

"So, a normal sickness—a normal problem… it is all complicated by this worship and also by poverty. ‘My child is struggling,’ and they can’t afford to go see a normal person, a doctor, so they go to the witch doctor... Sangormas are everywhere.”

"Our young people are 50/50—we are open-minded. We grow up with ancestral worship, but we question it. So that just means our Peer Educators have an important role to play. If we don’t intervene, if the church doesn’t get to them early before they’re fully into this thing, the parents will win... If they’re not won to Christ, it will continue. Kids will still believe that whites owe them, they will keep that anger alive, they will keep watching movies that show a white man abusing a black man.”

One of the men we were talking to grew up without a father, so he said he didn’t care what he did to other people-- he said cultural conditions feed into crime and corruption. “Until Christ comes into your life, you are a danger to everyone around you. Because of all the crisis around you, you end up being a nobody. Only God can change that.” He also said there's feelings of tremendous anger: many black South Africans feel like, 'somebody OWES me.' “It's post-apartheid trauma... If you’re driving a car, and I can’t afford one—you OWE me.”

Colin told us a story about one teacher who mentioned “father” in a lesson, but the child had no understanding of what that word meant. “Who takes care of you?” “I do.” “No—who provides for you and your siblings?” “Me.” “So… you’re the father?” “...The what?” Poverty drives the pandemic.

"A woman has AIDS and gets a government grant of 800 rand for medication. But she has a starving family. So, does she use the money to get medicine to help her live longer, or does she use it to feed her family? She uses it to feed her family."

They talked about a popular conception of women-- basically, that they're valueless—polygamy is a common practice culture in some tribal cultures, but it perpetuates the problem. Or older men want to marry younger girls. “A man is allowed to take as many as he wants, the younger the better.”

Let's end on a more positive note, shall we?

I pointed out that, as overwhelming as all these problems are, I truly believe (I have to believe) we are on the victor’s side. The Bible is filled with accounts where God triumphs over impossible odds. THESE are impossible odds; but the realm of the impossible is God’s playground. There's a story of Elisha in 2nd Kings 6 when he is surrounded by armies. He's there with a servant who's terrified, but Elisha tells him, "Don't worry. Those who are with us are more than those who are with them." Then he prays, "God, open his eyes so that he can see.” In that moment, the servant's eyes are suddenly opened and he can see thousands of angels lining the hills around them, with fiery swords. Elisha says again, “Those who are with us are MORE than those who are with them.”

If I don’t hold on to that, I will succumb to despair. And perhaps the reason why so many young people succumb to despair is because they only see the opposing armies and odds—they can’t see the angels. I pray, then: “God… open their eyes so that they can see.”

One of the women we were talking to pointed out that this program is OF African design, it’s a solution coming straight from Africa, and it is experiencing success. She said, “There are SO many programs out there, but this is a welcome program. I can’t remember us ever walking out of a school with them telling us ‘NO’, we can't be there. And it is so encouraging for Africans to be told, YOU can be part of the solution. Not just, ‘people need to help you,’ but that YOU can be part of the solution. And the fact that it’s led by Peer Educators, people that come from the same neighborhood, who deal with the same problems—to hear them say, ‘It’s possible,’ is incredibly powerful.

Tomorrow we go into the Soweto ghetto to work with the Peer Educators for the first time. I can't wait. :)