"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…
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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.
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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.