So…it’s the
morning after arriving home from Tanzania, Africa. Scratch that. Just looked at
the clock. It’s afternoon here; it’s 10:30 tonight TZ time. Although I’ve been
up for 8 hours, my body has no idea what time it is, when it should eat, when
it should sleep. My head has no idea what to think besides, “What just
happened?!?” In the 7 days I was on Tanzanian soil, it never sunk in that I was
really in Africa. Hopefully telling the story will help me realize that I
really was there. And so, with that bleary-eyed thought, I will try to express
through written words my experience in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.
It’s no
short journey from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Tanzania, Africa. I arrived at the
airport at 7:30 am on a cold November, Friday morning. Our entire team met in
Atlanta, most of us never or barely having met before, and continued our trip together
from there. When we finally landed in Tanzania it was about 10:30 pm Saturday,
TZ time, having skipped 9 hours on the clock. It was hot. It was HOT and HUMID.
The black sky looked exactly as you would expect it to in Africa, with wisps of
clouds illuminated by the bright, full moon.
Next, we
squeezed a huge plane-load of people into a hot airport room and handed our passports
and a $100 dollar bill to a man for VISA approval. No. Not the
spend-now-pay-later kind of visa. The let-you-into-the-country-for-$100-dollars
kind of visa. We waited until our names were called and our passports were
returned, plus a visa page, minus $100. While I waited in the absolute slowest
line ever to have my passport/visa approved, the rest of the team gathered our
luggage which, by the literal grace of God, bypassed all inspections. That was
great! Because it was LATE by then, we were TIRED and HOT, and we still had a
hotter journey to the hotel to accomplish.
There was a
quick stop to exchange dollars for shillings (a thousand shillings equaled
about 60 cents), a struggle to fit 15 women and 45 pieces of luggage/equipment
onto a bus with significantly smaller capacity (we ended up renting a cab/van,
too), and our journey, both physically and otherwise, within Tanzania had
begun.
It was
impossible, even on the dark streets, to miss the poverty. Everywhere we looked
there were make-shift shops along roadsides, spilling over with people. Some appeared to be grabbing a midnight
opportunity to accomplish tasks, carrying huge loads on their heads or from
poles across their shoulders. Others
seemed to be enjoying the company of their community. The streets were dark, minus the lights from
small fires, candles, and headlights. It
was Broadway, NYC, minus money, electricity, and “real” buildings. The Tanzania version, maybe, of a “city that
never sleeps.” Or so it seemed to me.
Some time passed,
maybe 30 minutes or more, before we pulled through the gates of our walled-in
resort, leaving behind the darkness and poverty. This was upscale Tanzania, reputed around the
country for its luxury. Though it was
“morning” when we arrived, it was still hours until daylight, so it wouldn’t be
until after a little sleep that we would get to take in just where we were.
If you are
curious, our rooms were nice, though not fancy.
Air-conditioned, unless the maid shut the electricity off. We had
mosquito nets, geckos, and copious amounts of nightly pesticides to protect us
from bugs. The water only shut off once, though my room lacked enough shower
pressure to even wash sand off my body. We made it work, creatively at times,
and truthfully, we were comfortable. I slept well every night. The missionaries were delighted with their
accommodations.

Downstairs
we found that the grand “lobby” of the hotel was a massive, open aired space,
as was the large dining room, with ocean breezes blowing through and
breathtaking views of the Indian Ocean. Everywhere, there were beautiful dark
faces smiling and serving us.
Wait, wait,
wait. THIS is a mission trip?? I know what you are thinking; I was thinking
that, too! But please understand; we, Pure Joy International, were there to
pull missionary women off of the mission field for a few days. Our mission
field was the ladies, and this place was the background of their much needed
rest and restoration. But first we did
need a couple days to acclimate! And so we walked the beach, swam in the Indian
Ocean, snorkeled from an uninhabited island, and rested…, so that we would be
refreshed and ready to receive and love on the women who would soon join us.
That is where the real story begins, with the missionary women.


Most people
would agree that the title “missionary” conjures up images of faith, foreign
lands, foreign languages, teaching, serving, praying, and leading great lives
of faith, service, and sacrifice for the sake of God. Maybe, like me, you hold
them up to a pretty high level of admiration. Maybe you also consider them to
be…I don’t know…better at life. More faithful. Wiser. Better parents, with
better children. They can probably do most things better than I can. They are
missionaries, after all. They are just…better.
And part of
being better means that they can handle more pressure, than I can. They can
withstand bigger challenges because they have bigger faith. They can endure
tougher circumstances because they are, well, they are missionaries. It’s what
they do! It’s what God called them to do!
If you are a
missionary and you are reading this, please forgive me! I understand so much
more now.

They have good days and bad. Days they love to serve and
days they are empty. Days they enjoy their husbands and days they just fulfill
their vows. They love their kids, but
their kids go through the same battles that yours or mine do, needing
instruction and discipline. Yet even missionary kids do not always want it and
do not always learn from it.
And protecting your children from threats as real as
violence or malaria is no small undertaking. Missionaries can suffer profound
disappointment, genuine depression, loneliness, fear, doubt…just like you. Just
like me. Just like all of us.

I learned a lot from them while I was there to serve them.
They refreshed me, as I watched them be refreshed through fellowship, Bible
study and worship. They laughed a lot. They cried a lot, too. They got real.
They were open. And there was hope and healing and joy restored to them in so
many ways.

3 comments:
This is so true and real. When we see how other people live and what they face each day it helps us be even more thankful. I have several friends that are full time missionaries and even though I know they are ordinary women I can't help but admire them for their service. I pray for them and their families and I love what Pure Joy does to help them be refreshed and for their lamps to be filled with oil so they can shine the light in the dark places of the world.
Thank you for being such a profound blessing to my mother(the beautiful lady in braids)! I am so grateful for the time you all spent pouring out love on these women. What they sacrifice daily is more than most people can ever know. Thank you, thank you.
Thanks again, I'm in tears reading this as I was on the retreat and the amazing feeling of love and joy that returned just by remembering through what you have written is also a gift. Such deep spiritual refreshment. Thank you and all who supported this trip.
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