by Roland Rink
We sit under the trees that are softly, softly shedding their leaves on a quiet autumn morning. The circle of chairs is drawn close as we listen to the low voice, the whisper, the rasping breath of each person. There is no condemnation, no judgmental attitude, and no discrimination. Each woman is accepted as she is. The intimate personal stories of pain, humiliation, rejection, and small triumphs sear my mind. I am humbled by each person’s honesty. It creates trust and a relationship with each other.
This is another fortnightly meeting of the Maskopas group that I facilitate. We are unconsciously, mysteriously, community. (Maskipas is township slang for “woven together.”) Each of the women who make up this group is struggling with the fact that life is tenuous, short, and filled with uncertainty. They are all HIV positive.
As I sit with these brave women, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that our group will slowly shrink and die. It’s inevitable. Yet, for this brief moment in time, we are community. We share the burden of the other. We laugh a lot. I am because we are.
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They arrive, bursting with the eager expectation and energy that seems to be the almost exclusive domain of young people. It’s a Saturday morning in early spring. Anathoth, the home of Africa Upper Room Ministries, is about to achieve a long cherished goal of providing meaningful computer literacy classes to disadvantaged young people of the community. Each of these young people has a story to tell. Many are recovering drug and alcohol addicts. Some are victims of domestic violence. Given their experiences, you would expect a somber, morose group of young people. Instead, their excited chatter quickly convinces you that they are glad to be here. This is an important part of their week. This new skill will enable each of them to secure a job and become a more effective member of his or her family and the wider community.
We begin the class with the daily practice of reading scripture, praying, and thinking about the Upper Room meditation for that day. As the words are spoken and read, we become a joyful community. Yes, a community that shares the knowledge and pain of past mistakes and poor lifestyle choices, but one that has been given another opportunity by the trainers and members of the community. A young community that is pregnant with potential. We laugh a lot. I am because we are.
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In days gone by, being part of a community was not an option in Africa. It was a given. From the very first days of life, an infant was accepted, nurtured and embraced as part of the community. The wider family, village, community structure provided support, discipline, and advice to the growing child. Sadly, in the ever-expanding urban settings throughout Africa, the powerful forces of self-enrichment, power, and personal pride are eroding the culture of community. Yet, in rural areas, the tradition survives. And we can learn from that.
I am because we are.
Roland Rink is Upper Room Ministries Coordinator in Africa. He lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, with his wife.
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