Ready! Set! Whoa...

We have dug the footing and laid the iron bars. We are ready to pour the cement and start raising the walls. Funds, drawings, materials, and everything we need is ready. Except one thing. One thing that money won’t buy and I can’t force. Faith. This one key element has brought the construction to a grinding halt. I told the community from day one the school wouldn’t be built by a construction crew from outside, or anyone paid by Why The Woods because that would undermine the whole project and in effect create the very problem I am combating: dependency. I told them they would be the ones to build their own school. I have recently learned that what they thought I meant by “build your own school” was that they would just do what the other NGO’s require of the Africans: collect natural materials and help mix the cement “so they feel like they have ownership.” They were quite shocked when they finished gathering all the sand and stones and I explained that now they were actually going to build the school. The whole school. They say it can’t be them because they are simple, uneducated farmers and this project needs skilled, paid workers. To which I remind them that A)they don’t know what this type of construction needs because they’ve never built like this, B)the Israelites that built the wall around Jerusalem were also simple farmers, not professional builders, C)GOD is Greater than our inabilities.

As I have said many times, the project is the people. If it were about the school building it would obviously make sense to bring in a crew or a few builders to do the hard stuff. But my whole point with this project is to push the Wadupe mindset past the idea that they can’t do great things for themselves; to breed Hope when they see what they can do through the strength of GOD; and to create a community of dreamers, thinkers, and doers, rather than a village of beggars. We have tried to preach this idea to them. I have given so many of what I call “Obama speeches”(encouraging, fluffy, optimistic, etc) I can’t count them anymore. We have learned that no matter how many speeches we give, how many times we explain it to them, or how many comparisons we make with the Bible, they just don’t believe they can do it. For a while we were stumped. Frustrated. What do we do now? We never thought they wouldn’t want to build the school. I imagined a crowd of eager volunteers every day. I thought the hard part in all this would be getting the funds. But, to keep in line with the Why The Woods imagery, a tree starts with a seed, not logs and limbs and leaves. This seed, this faith in GOD, we thought was already here, we now realize dried up a long time ago. There is a spiritual darkness in this place, apathy towards GOD, and a strong faith in money and appearance. They are afraid of failure. They are paralyzed. They only see the wind and the waves (Matt 14). So although the surface needs are met by providing materials and instruction, there is a deeper spiritual need we must address. We cannot ignore it for the sake of producing a building. They will remain empty if we do.

Last Friday a group of 13 people from YWAM (Youth With A Mission) came to stay with us in Wadupe. For the next five weeks Why The Woods is playing host and informant as this group focuses on bringing the Spirit of GOD back to Wadupe.
Derrick and I are praying and fasting for this village. We are helping YWAM conduct outreach activities and seminars for the community. We pray they will believe again in the one true GOD. We pray they will see that through Him they “can do all things.” We pray that they will believe in this project and see how it will change their future for the better. In just a few days of YWAM being there we have already seen a renewed interest in building the school. There are a few who believe it can be done. So they are coming. I say let the few who believe in His strength build the school. Let those who don’t be ashamed when they see what GOD did here. We hope to restart the construction later this week or early next week. Please pray for those that believe and work, that they will be an example to those who don’t.

Wadupe Update

I finally got to a place with internet today. I have been in the village mostly working on the foundation for the school and haven't had a chance to travel to Yei. My dad spent two weeks out here with us and truly enjoyed the trip. The whole village called him Dad and they loved meeting him. Derrick and I are doing well and have made some good progress with the project. I will blog again very soon with the details of our progress and struggles. Much Love

GOD is Greater

Veneer

Once a week I join the citizens of Wadupe and walk almost three miles up to the main road. The walk leaves my feet dirty and my shirt sweaty. An hour later we stop where the Wadupe road meets the big dusty vein of commerce. To my right, Uganda is a day’s walk. Down that road terrified families once fled this place. To the left, a Toyota Land Cruiser could get me to Yei Town in 30 minutes. However, I rarely score a ride in a Land Cruiser. Market days are the best days to hitch a ride to Yei because there is generally more traffic. By the time I get there the market is already busy with gossip and trade. I get some peanuts and bananas and wait to catch an empty seat in a passing matatu or taxi. My favorite is when I get to ride to town on top of a truck loaded with people and sacks of beans or charcoal. I crawl up and squeeze in between the bewildered Africans. Some have heard about the white man who lives in Wadupe, the others are confused and entertained at the sight. I find a rope or something to grip for the next 15 miles(about 1 hour) and hold on. In the sun we sway and bounce down the red road cut through the deep green grass sprinkled with mango, papaya, and banana trees. I see brown skinned people along the way greeting neighbors, carrying goods to market, or fetching water. About 5 miles down the road I pass one of the saddest things I have ever seen in Sudan. In fact it has been a huge influence on Why The Woods.
As we crawl through a small village I fight negative thoughts when I see their primary health center. It sticks out of the landscape with cement walls and a shiny metal roof—a high commodity in this area, and quite a logistical accomplishment for whoever built it. No doubt Sudan is in much need of health care on any level. But, I am sad because this beautiful building sits empty—doors locked—teasing our eyes with the idea of progress; teasing us with the image of life saving healthcare when nothing but quiet darkness fills the cement rooms. I don’t know the story, I don’t know the reason, and I don’t wish to blame anyone but ignorance or circumstance. In fact I only want to use this image, not this particular building or organization, as an example of what must change.
The long gone organization that built this building in delusional hopes of helping these people is remembered only by the sign that marks their work. The building is so prominent and so commanding in this village of mud and grass. Yet, its strong shell is merely a quiet whisper of change—a gloom more than a hope. It’s a sad reminder that they [the Sudanese] weren’t heard, they weren’t helped, and nothing about their lives is different now. It’s sad to think of the resources that were used to merely change the landscape—the surface of this village. I fear in this instance we have misconstrued the meaning of “community,” “happiness,” and “need.”
I ask myself as I ride through, “What is my project…what is my purpose?” Can we place our veneer over this world and walk away? We have rushed to the aid of a country torn apart by war and tried desperately to rebuild. What we don’t realize is that what was destroyed in the war were people, not buildings. People are what we need to rebuild. The Why The Woods approach to rebuilding people is to inspire Love, Hope, and Knowledge. It seems easier to just look around and say, duh, they need a health center, let’s be proactive and build one. But that CAN’T be the first step. We must slow down and acknowledge the people first. Let us ask them, let us know them, let us understand them, and then let us empower them. Let them develop their own appearance. In the case of Wadupe, they have decided to rebuild their school. They may need material help, and that we can do well. But what good is another empty building built by another foreign group. Love has connected me with that village; a seed of Hope has been planted in their hearts and minds; new Knowledge is expanding their capacity; now, we are physically assisting them as they build. I refuse to merely change the surface and ignore the truth…the People are my project…His Love is my purpose.

"Why Don't They Just Farm?"

“So, why don't they just farm?"
I get asked this question a lot concerning the people of Wadupe and Africa in general. It’s a very logical question and I certainly don’t blame anyone for asking it. It seems the solution to Wadupe’s poverty is simple—good soil, hard work, and a market economy. If we could only teach them that they would be better off, right? We Americans are very industrious people. We see a problem, we form a solution, and we get to work; as a result we succeed in this world. We know that farming was and still is a huge part of America’s success, so it’s logical to ask "why don't they just farm?" It makes perfect sense…
* * *
The soil in Wadupe is as black as the volcanic rock it covers. One could almost plant thoughts and dreams and see green shoots the next day. A few days ago(July) I plunged my hoe into the soft ground. I was barefoot and naive. I had never hoed a garden before but I figured it couldn't be too hard to scratch out a few lines and plant some Pineapples. After churning the ground like a crazed human plow a few gracious friends stopped me from killing myself. They quietly asked if they could try and took the hoe from my hands. I couldn’t imagine what they could do to improve on my fine rows of pineapple suckers, but I have learned this routine all too well—try hard, realize I failed miserably, and then watch how the locals do it. I rested the pinching muscles in my back and rubbed the new blisters on my hands while they dug. Apparently farming is different in Sudan.
Wadupe used to be covered with huge farms. Fields of coffee plants stretched for acres through the Mugwo Mountain valley. Then, years ago…bombs dropped on their families and soldiers crept through the grass. Bullets pulverized their infrastructure; fire consumed whole properties. Their world ended and the Wadupe people scattered to neighboring countries with literally nothing but their native language. Injustice, by the name of Government, let evil men destroy the green growth of Wadupe. Hate had killed their progress. Sudan’s 21 years of war (almost my entire life) left this community with nothing but scars—scars like plowed marks across their black land; scars on their skin, scars on their hearts and minds, scars that might answer many of our questions if we are willing to listen.
After the war people returned to their homelands the same way they went out—with nothing but a common language. Under the mountain they found a new Wadupe. Crops were stolen, fields were burned, and the people who had not fled were dead or dying. The soldiers of both armies had plundered the whole area for food and slaves. The black soil in Wadupe was indifferent through it all; it nourished crops and weeds alike. It fed enemy and ally. It was destroyed by fighting and destroyed by peace. For years after the fighting the land sat untouched and uncultivated. When the former refugees returned to their farmland they found the African bush had taken over what the war had left behind.
* * *
In a sense we are right, they should “just farm.” But as the once successful farmer stands and looks at the rubble of his life, he wonders if dying or killing would have been a better way. However right we may or may not be about what they should or could do we formed our solution standing on American soil; we must understand that our solutions don’t always work for other worlds. If we don’t fully know their problems we can’t fully know the solution. In my opinion we have no right to tell a Wadupe farmer that the solution to his problems is farming. We have never farmed there. We don’t know his challenges. We don’t know his history. We don’t even know his name. Americans have such a great approach to problem solving; it is one that I am trying to implement in Wadupe using the story of Nehemiah—Pray, Prioritize, Plan, Work. I don’t think we should change our industrious mindset. It is a powerful tool that could really help this world. However, we must change our perspective. We fail when we say, Pray this way, Plan this way, Work this way. We must remember that “they” live in a different world than we. It is difficult for anyone to farm when your own government drops bombs on you.
In Wadupe I wanted a plot of pineapples, but first I had to learn how to make things grow there. I thought little black rows, a foot deep and a foot wide would look beautiful next to my house. And they probably would have—until the first big rain. In fact, my American garden was of no use in Wadupe. I learned from my friends that only rows a yard wide, piled two-feet high, would withstand the rainy season. In Wadupe I have to daily check my pride and remind myself that I am like a baby in that culture--barely able to speak or feed myself, and certainly not able to make a proper Wadupe garden. When we come at the world from the top down, bringing our answers and solutions to those “below” us, we risk oppressing the people we are trying to help. Only through a humble approach can we deeply impact another culture. The Why The Woods approach to the world is to be like water—slowly seeping into the lives of the poor and hopeless in order to nourish and empower. I was elated when I found this quote by Lao-Tzu: "The best [man] is like water. Water is good; it benefits all things...It dwells in [lowly] places that all disdain." Like our GOD who came and walked amongst us, we must first become like babes. We must listen and learn; We must seep low and deep; We must empower and nurture.

Life In Wadupe

I wake up at around 6 AM to birds and soft rain drops. I walk outside and stand beneath a young acacia tree in my front yard. I circled it with big stones last summer, and planted small purple flowers in the circle this summer. The stones make a nice morning seat. The sun rises over the Wadupe mountain, through the mango and acacia trees, and into the few clouds left over from last night. I breath in and soak up the life that radiates from the new grass, the new trees, the new flowers, the breeze. Everything is waking. Everything is gentle. GOD is painting this morning; He wants us to be quiet for a little while.

When the sun gets just over the trees, and begins to turn up its volume, I wake up Allie and Abby for morning tea. My pet monkey rides on my shoulder, or in my arms depending on his mood, as we walk down the path to the churchyard where the cooks have prepared hot water. Juma John, my newly hired base manager greets us with his wide Sudanese smile. He is a blessing from GOD. Juma updates us on the World Cup results, I struggle like a young parent to keep baby Monkey's curious hands off the table, Allie and Abby savor every sip of their african tea.

The girls work on various projects such as tidying the house, slashing the grass(cutting the grass with short metal sickles), painting our porch poles to discourage termites, or playing with the children who wander down our path. Allie and Abby spend the day with them teaching them English words and learning Kakwa in exchange. We even taught a few girls how to make bracelets out of colored thread which we bought back from them to help with their school fees.

There is one nine year old girl that we especially enjoy named Ena Estella. Ena has sass, or as we like to call it, "ENAtude." She looks at us white people like we are crazy with her hands on her hips, her lips poked out and one eyebrow cocked. She refuses to be intimidated by some crazy white people in her village. She dances like she owns the place and no boy is brave enough to push her around. We can't get enough of her smile and her laugh. (See the link to "Allie's Blog" for a picture of ENA). But we noticed in the past few days that Ena hasn't been her normal spicy self. She has coughing spells that come from deep in her chest and a fever that comes and goes. So when we hitched our weekly ride to Yei on top of a passing dump truck, loaded with sacks of beans and people, Ena was with us. She had walked the three miles to the main road, fever and all, with a proud strut, not at all afraid that the white people were taking her to town for the night. When we got to Yei, we took her to the compound where we stay. She flicked the lights "on" and laughed, "off," and laughed again. She put her hands in and out of the freezer then pressed them to her face. She first thought the shower was a latrine, but when Abby turned on the overhead water to wash away Ena's mistake, her clothes went flying and we could hear her laughing as she splashed the water all over her. The actual latrine was weird for her at first. She fell completely into the porcelain toilet. She laughed like we were the dumb ones for having such a weird thing, but again Abby helped her figure it out. The clinic gave us several types of medicine to help with her fever, the cough, and a de-worming pill. Yesterday she taught us a card game and fussed at us when we made mistakes. It's hard not knowing each other's language yet, but Ena doesn't need words.

A few weeks ago we established the Wadupe Development Committee. I am leading them in a Bible study twice a week that focuses on the book of Nehemiah. Through this study the committee is learning how to assess a need, develop a plan, count the costs, and write a proposal. I am showing the community that even a slave to the enemy king can do an impossible project if GOD is behind it. We are also learning the value of praying and planning before acting or asking. We have had great turnouts (20-70 people depending on the weather) and the people are asking really thoughtful questions. My hope is that one day the community will have the knowledge and the confidence to do their own development projects.

During the week the community gathers to collect stones and river sand that will be used when we pour the foundation for the school. In two days they collected enough stones to build a small castle. Just when we were about to begin collecting river sand, we had a full day of floodwater rains and the wooden bridge that connects Wadupe to the main road was washed away. Only two timbers remain for us to walk across. Until that gets fixed no vehicles can pass.

Please pray that the bridge will be repaired soon and that we will get the foundation ready before I return to the States for the month of August.

On Graduating...By Request of Caesar

Three years ago I told my mom college could wait and I left for Africa. It was the best decision I ever made. I told her a degree is just following a system of rules and check boxes. The University says I must pass biology. Check. The University says I must pass math class. Check. The University says I must take a "humanities" class. Check. Do I learn anything? It doesn't matter. I do what "They" say, then I get a degree to show the world. Pat me on the back and give me a job, I must be smarter and more equipped than most.
I wasn't buying that.
"Where's the truth in it?" I said. "So what if I have a degree, does that make me a better man?"

"It's just something to you have to do if you want to get anywhere in America," mom said.
That argument didn't do much for a guy who writes emails from a hut in Africa.

"I don't care what America thinks of me. I only care what God thinks of me. And I don't see where He requires a degree."

"Billy, please."
I can push my mom to the edge sometimes, but dang if she doesn't hang on and eventually win me over. Like a good son stumbling into church on Mother's Day, I came back from Africa and followed the religion of University. I read the text books, I followed the major rules, I went to class about as often as I went to church, and it seemed to be enough.

On May 9th, 2010 I sat in the back of the Appalachian State Convocation Center waiting for my name to be called. It was the second Sunday in May. There were moms, dads, families, and friends all cheering us on. An uncontrollable energy exploded from beneath our bachelor's caps. I watched the celebration with a peaceful smile. Not because I now had a respectable degree. I still think a certificate of any kind is secondary to what is most important in life. I smiled not because my mom was proud of me on this Mother's Day. I knew she would've been regardless. I smiled because in those last few days of class I found truth in the college experience.
College was easy or hard. College was beneficial or a waste of time. College was valuable knowledge or useless information. College was dead religion or alive and renewing. College was all shallow and no truth or the deepest I have ever ventured. College existed as good and bad and then allowed me to choose how to experience each moment. Maybe that's what the almighty "They" had in mind when they told me to take those "irrelevant" classes. Maybe they knew it's more about how I approach a thing rather than the thing itself. Is college necessary? Some would say no; some would say yes. I say necessity is none of my concern. I found it good when I searched for good. I was blessed to have it in my life. College exists, just as church, just as sports, just as life, just as death. I can only choose the degree of it's impact. One thing is for sure, being in college was a great excuse for me to spend an entire day in a coffee shop thinking about all of this.

I am again in Africa writing emails from a hut. I look at the Dinka man here in Sudan with tribal scars on his forehead and I wonder, in the grand scheme of things was that necessary? Did that make him a real man? In the grand scheme of things was the D- I made in Biology really necessary for my life. I imagine the Dinka man and I would still be alive and well had we not gone through our ceremonial rituals. But for some reason, painful as they were, we did. He has scars on his skin; I have a degree on my wall. And here we are together in Sudan, alive and well. Our moms are proud of us. The world thinks we are men. We are glad we pushed through. But we both know it is not the marks we bear that make us men. It was our response to the moment when the man slid his blade into our scalps.

Thank you mom, family, Mrs Sherrill, Jay Sutton, Jane Graham, Dawn Ward, Coach Moore, and all of you who kept me searching for meaning.
And to Dr. McCaesar, consider it rendered with untold appreciation.

GOD is Greater

billy riddle jr

journal entries: my first trip (2007)

--May 5th--

“Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the worlds they hands have made. I see the stars; I hear the rolling thunder, thy power throughout the universe displayed… How great thou art.” Who knew there was such beauty in a place the media portrays as impoverished. Poor? Sure, by materialistic standards, but so rich in culture and natural beauty. The flight into Sudan was dreamlike. From the air I could see nothing but massive grasslands spotted with grass hut villages. We landed the small plane on the dirt runway and after a short check-in the SP guys and I headed to Yei (Yay). The dirt roads are very rough and damaged from the rains. Along the roadsides there are little grass huts, some with, some without mud walls. People are everywhere. The women carry water, food, or firewood on their heads; men are walking or riding motor bikes; and the children are running around. One thing they all have in common--the will to survive. There is so much movement as everyone tries to sell something or do anything they can just to make a living.

The compound is nice. It's a lot nicer than I expected anyway. I have a tin roof over my head, concrete floors and a bed to sleep in. Most of the workers here on the compound are Kenyan, Ugandan, and Sudanese. They are all solid guys, very welcoming, and very funny. I am glad to get to share a bunkhouse with several of them. They have invited me to church tomorrow.