by Rebecca
I sat on a mat in the sand, finding some coolness in the shade as I looked out over the barren scrub of the Sahel. I’d moved to Niger, West Africa to work with the Tuareg people. I’d been so proud of the progress I’d been making – within weeks of my arrival I’d joined a literacy class for girls. They would come to learn to read and write Tamasheq and I came to learn the language. A few lessons in, just as class was coming to an end, the girl who had sat down beside me and whispered French translations to me when I looked lost, invited me home with her for tea. Her family was delightful and I was having such a good time getting to know them that tea time extended into dinner and then into chatting under the night sky.
Weeks passed and I began to notice a pattern. I would walk with my new friend to her home after literacy class. We’d sit in the shade and sip strong Tuareg tea, and then she’d excuse herself to go make dinner. Each time I would offer my help. Each time I was told to sit and relax. Sometimes her younger brothers and sisters would come and play with me. Other times, her older brothers would mill around. But most of the time, I was left by myself, feeling like the progress I’d been making was now hitting a mud-brick wall. How was I supposed to move our relationship forward when half of my visit was spent sitting by myself?
In grad school, as I studied international development, we talked a lot about the idea of the God-complex – the idea that aid workers and missionaries alike arrive in a foreign country with the idea that we are the only ones with things to offer. When this mentality pervades our work, the result is the confirmation of the poor’s belief that they are helpless and unable to create change on their own. They are at our disposal, waiting for us to swoop in and save the day. This is hardly the case. In fact, what we need to remember, is that God has been at work among the people we serve long before we showed up. He has given these people knowledge, capacity and creativity – they are after all, created in His image.
As I mulled over this road block and prayed for wisdom, God gave me words that opened doors. One evening at my friend’s house, rather than offering my help, I found myself asking her to teach me how to cook like her. Without even realizing the power of my words before they were spoken, these words brought life and dignity – her face beamed and with great excitement she brought me to the corner of their court yard where they cooked and delighted in showing me every step of the process. Rather than seeing me as the person with all of the knowledge and resources, she saw herself as a teacher, as someone with wisdom and knowledge to impart. From then on, I was always included in the cooking process, allowing us to continue to bond, and to share with one another as equals.
For me, it was a great lesson in how even in the small things, we must strive to remind those we work with that our relationship with them is one defined by give and take. We bring the Gospel and knowledge of things such as clean water, improved farming techniques or improved hygiene. They bring the knowledge of how to survive in extreme conditions, what it means to live in community and how to find joy in small things. When we go to serve, we must do just that – we must serve, taking the posture of a learner, so that we might bring the knowledge of our Savior in word and deed.
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