My articles are intended to bring Africa back to you with me serving merely as a window or even a prism to those experiences. I never really wanted to make any of these all about me, but since I just passed my 6-month milestone in Africa, I thought this might be a good time to talk about the journey I have had so far just getting to this point in my life. Even those of you reading this who know me well probably don’t know the whole story. To put it like The Grateful Dead: what a long, strange trip it’s been.
I graduated from college (Washington University in St. Louis) back in 1997 with only somewhat of an idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had gone through four years of the pre-med curriculum assuming all along that I would go on to medical school (I had also taken the MCAT and applied to medical schools but without success). Medicine seemed like the family business: my dad’s a doctor, my mom’s a nurse, two of my uncles (on both sides) are doctors, and the wife of one of those uncles is a nurse. I had declared a Biology major within my first year and was forced to take classes like Organic Chemistry (1 & 2), Calculus, and Physics for my pre-med core classes. I didn’t enjoy most of these classes, but I also took some electives that I did enjoy, like Spanish and Anthropology. Two of the Anthropology courses I took were Archaeology courses. One was “The Prehistory of North America,” and the other was “The Prehistory of Africa.” I didn’t know it at the time, but what I ended up doing in life would have a lot more to do with the electives than the core classes.
Six months after graduation, I was working as a temp for an Environmental clean-up firm. I had considered environmental work as a career, and the temp work seemed like the next logical step. I was also working part-time at a prominent medical research facility in Milwaukee--a job I’d had on and off since the summer after my freshman year of college. One day, early in 1998, I happened to be speaking to a close friend of mine on the phone when things were spelled out for me. This friend had been on short-term mission teams with the OCMC and asked me if I had ever considered applying to be on a short-term team. Of course I had, but the timing never seemed right. “What’s holding you back?” He was right. I had missed the application deadline, but I applied and miraculously was assigned to be on a team that would be going to Mexico. The team I was on didn’t go to Tijuana (that’s Project Mexico, although I later did that, as well), but instead went to a small village outside of Merida in the northwest Yucatan Peninsula. There had been an Orthodox Church in this village for only a few years, but Orthodoxy itself had been introduced almost a century before by Lebanese immigrants. A Lebanese man had owned the property where the church was later built, and there had been an old chapel on the property that he had wanted converted into an Orthodox Chapel. Our team worked on restoring the small chapel that time had forgotten, and today it is still in good shape and being used by the community. In addition to the work at hand, I also had the chance to meet a lot of the community members. Many of them came from the outlying village, which I quickly discovered was a Mayan village. When people hear the word “Maya,” images are conjured up of archeological sites like Chichen Itza & Uxmal and movies like Apocalypto. It’s a commonly held belief that the Mayans all died out because their ancient cities were suddenly abandoned, but it’s actually the empire that collapsed, not the people themselves. It would be like saying that all Italians died out after the Roman Empire collapsed. Anyway, as I had an interest in ancient American cultures from my recently-passed college days, I developed a keen interest in the Mayan culture and especially the Mayan Orthodox culture. I have returned to this same area on my own 8 or 9 times since, and I have become a godfather to several children from this community. I have also traveled around to many of the Mayan ruins, including some that are way off the beaten path and not as crowded as the sites like Chichen Itza. All of this made me want to see more of the world, but I just didn’t know how...yet.
That first mission trip ignited a spark, and I knew that down the road I would have to go on another one. I even tossed around the idea that I could do it long-term, but I would always have a reality check because I needed to be more responsible with my life and get a real job, or so I thought. In the meantime, my newfound fascination with travel and different cultures led me in a slightly different direction. Since I didn’t want to become a doctor, I wanted to think of a way that I could still work either in the environmental or health field but ply my trade elsewhere. Back in college, I had entertained the idea of one day joining the Peace Corps, so I thought that might be a good way for me to get experience and make a difference at the same time. I enrolled in the Peace Corps and found myself in El Salvador in January, 2000. My assignment was to augment the Spanish that I had been learning since middle school and to learn about water sanitation and then apply what I learned in a local village for two years. The people in El Salvador were extremely friendly and looked after me, but I got really sick within my first week, and that set the tone for the overall experience I had. After a couple of months, I accepted the fact that I wasn't ready to continue on and fulfill my two-year commitment, so I became what the Peace Corps refers to as an ET (Early Termination). In the group of 25 or so people that started out, I was the 5th to leave, a high attrition rate even by Peace Corps standards. For the record, I still think very highly of the Peace Corps, but it just wasn’t right for me.
Now, it was the spring of 2000, and I was back at the starting block. I still wanted to do something involving different cultures and health-related. I decided to focus on Public Health, and in the fall of 2000 I began my Masters Program at Boston University. At the time, my main goal was to be able to work with Native American populations in the US, so I tailored my concentration around Social and Behavioral Health (developing, implementing, and evaluating health behavior-changing programs). I even volunteered at the North American Indian Center of Boston and was able to get my hands dirty by helping to organize an annual health fair. The BU School of Public Health also offered an International Health Concentration, but I was afraid that this concentration would pigeon-hole me into a career in international health, and I wasn’t sure that I would be doing anything like that (if I had only known!!!). I finished my degree in only a year and a half but came out to a lousy job market. It was just after 9/11 and things were very slow all around. I managed to get a part-time job working for a minority health center in Milwaukee, but it was only a temporary assignment. For about the next 5 years, I found myself looking for anything I could do, health-related or not. In that time, I worked as a health inspector in south Florida (I inspected facilities like schools, tanning salons, and mobile home parks), a curatorial assistant at a natural history museum in both the Invertebrate and Vertebrate Zoology Departments, a file clerk at a hospital, and even as a travel agent (which lasted for about 3 weeks). I became very discouraged because I thought getting a Masters Degree would solve all of my problems and that job offers would come flying in my direction. I revisited the idea of long-term mission work, but I still needed something to fill the stop-gap period. I enrolled in an employment counseling company which, although to some extent seemed very legit and helpful, ended up doing nothing for me. I remember one of the counselors at that company telling me that a long-term mission experience wouldn’t do anything to help with my employment rut. Then one day, I showed up to find the doors locked and the office moved with no explanation. Having no other viable options and not being able to get hired because of my lack of real world job experience, I consulted the OCMC in the summer of 2007 (“Here I am! Send me!”). They had just brought on new staff members for the long-term missions department, and they seemed very eager to see me through the process. They decided that instead of sending me right out to become a long-term missionary that I should go on an “extended short-term mission.” I told them to send me wherever they wanted. In January, 2008, I learned that I would be heading to Tanzania in July of that same year. Africa! I had always wanted to go there and had an obsession with African animals and cultures since I was a kid. I was finally getting my chance at the age of 33.
I spent a couple of months in the summer of 2008 as a team member on two short-term teams. The first one helped build a chapel, and the second one taught at a summer youth camp for Orthodox young adults in Tanzania. Both were in the Archdiocese of Mwanza just outside the city of Bukoba, a very pleasant small town on the western shore of Lake Victoria. It was during the teaching mission that everything clicked for me. I was giving a presentation on AIDS prevention, and everything about it felt right. I had discovered what I was really meant to be doing. After I returned home, I consulted with the OCMC and did a lot of thinking before beginning the process in October, 2008 to become a long-term missionary. I thought, “This will be great! I’ll be out of here by next summer and I can finally be doing what I’ve always wanted to do.” In early January, 2009, toward the end of my first day of work back at the hospital following a family vacation in Disney World, I was called into my supervisor’s office. I was told that the hospital was downsizing and that I had the rest of the day (which for me was only about 30 minutes) to collect my things. As floored as I was, I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming. In addition to the overall poor economy in the US, the hospital where I worked really started to feel the effects and had laid off the president and several department directors and managers, including in Radiology where I worked. I was a “sometimes person” with a flexible schedule, and the new director of Radiology decided to eliminate that position entirely. It was OK, though, because I would be leaving in a few months, right? Well, not exactly. I didn’t realize that the process to become a long-term missionary would take a lot longer, and I still had to raise my own money before I could leave. Plus, the OCMC had to coordinate with the Metropolitan in Tanzania to determine the missionaries' job descriptions and when the team would be able to leave the states. The fundraising campaign was extremely long and draining, and I put a lot of miles on my car, but in hindsight, it was totally worth it. I also know that I could never have done it while working even a part-time or temporary job, so maybe getting laid off was what I needed. I had a lot of money saved up to help carry me through slow times, and that ended up being enough to get me through the drought. I made the best of my fundraising experiences around the US and enjoyed telling others about the amazing journey I had the previous summer. I hope the communities I visited were able to experience even a little of what I experienced in Tanzania. In May, 2010, I met with the rest of the long-term team in St. Augustine for our Pre-field Training, and on July 4 I left the US.
It’s now over six months later, and I still feel like I’m where I need to be. I’m no longer concerned about the future because the doors that were once locked are now swinging open. It’s easy to look back and see how clearly everything was laid out (like the Anthropology courses in college and the feeling I had after both mission trips), but it was still very hard for me to not want to take control of the situation entirely by myself. I knew that God had a plan, but I wasn’t willing to yield completely to it. In a sense, I was like Jonah running from it instead of toward it. I felt like I needed to live my life the way others around me expected me to live it (to get a “real job” instead of running off to a foreign land to become a missionary). All the while, I wasn’t feeling any reward or sense of accomplishment in what I was doing. When I finally answered “The Call,” I was amazed at how easy things became.
If there is anyone out there who is going through the same thing I did and who thinks that a long-term or even short-term mission experience might be the answer, I will say to you what my friend said to me back in 1998: What’s holding you back?
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
Monday, February 21, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Three Holy Hierarchs Update from OCMC Missionary Christina Semon
The Holy Three Hierarchs
January 30, 2011
Dear Support Team,
My sincere greetings as we celebrate together the remembrance of the Holy Three Hierarchs. My friends, here we are already closing the first term of our missionary service. It is customary for OCMC Missionaries to come home after their assignment, and to return to OCMC for debriefing before touching base with family and friends. It is time for reviewing what I have learned from my first assignment so that I may apply it to my next assignment. Final consideration is being given to bridging my life experience in Romania with her eastern neighbor, The Republic of Moldova.
I have already begun to wrap up my ministry work in Romania while exploring this next field assignment. I am grateful to have been able to work alongside dedicated colleagues to gain from their experience in the organization of special activities, especially for the St. Dimitrie Program, in occupational therapy. My co-workers and good friends, OCMC Missionaries Floyd and Ancuta Frantz, have been guiding, teaching, and supporting me since I set foot in Romania, and even challenging me to answer all I feel the Lord is calling me to do. They are generously offering to continue working with me even while serving in my next assignment. To further help in this transition, I have been examining all I have learned thus far as a missionary so that I can build bridges to my next field of service.
The Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC) has initiated the process for reviewing and approving my 2nd term in The Republic of Moldova. It is new territory for missions; therefore the final stage is set for welcoming Father David Rucker, the Associate Director of OCMC, for a visit to the Metropolis Seat in the capitol city of Chisinau. Floyd Frantz and I have, on several occasions, journeyed to Moldova to see the outcome of Floyd's efforts with an anti-alcohol program, and to meet his network of friends in the Republic of Moldova. This Republic is one of the poorest countries in Europe. Communism ruled for 70 years until August 27th 1991 and, to this day, it still maintains a strong influence. There is a weak infrastructure of the Church in regard to youth ministry which impacts the current generation, and may affect who knows how many future generations to come. The needs of the Church are many, but especially needful is the development of spirituality among the faithful and youth ministry. My work experience in Romania could, by God's grace, be an effective and useful contribution in serving her Sister Church in Moldova. Also, this presents an opportunity to collaborate internationally, by possibly bringing together youth from Romania with youth in the Republic of Moldova and, if God wills, even from as far away as America to share and build friendship in the Body of Christ.
After just sharing with you the ministry prospects for serving in the Republic of Moldova, I will now bring us back to good old home. I will be coming home on February 18th, 2011 and departing on April 15th, 2011. I will be facing the normal side effects of reverse culture shock, but there is a wonderful blessing to reconnect with family and the support team. I value my communication with the support team because it reminds me that I am not alone on the field and that people’s prayers carry me through the challenges in my ministry and life, day by day. Your participation is important for me in this missionary service because the Lord works through us as we labor together in service. It is neat to share stories and updates on the front line where I am serving in the field. I also rejoice in your assistance in providing humanitarian aid for the Protection of the Theotokos Family Center (PTFC) to help clothe the children and mothers. I greatly appreciate my support team’s prayers and financial assistance more than you may realize. We now know that our relationship will have potential to grow deeper because the Lord has opened up a gate on the narrow path for us to enter into a new area for missionary work.
In conclusion, O Holy Three Hierarchs, please pray for us! These three great Hierarchs were known for many things, especially their leadership and labors for the Church. They appeared to the faithful to tell them that they were all equal in standing before God. They had harmony with each other because everything they did was united to Christ, the Head. Our friendship as well was given by the Lord to unite us in order to work for the Holy Spirit in the fulfillment of the Great Commission. Jesus Christ is the focus and force which is driving us to continue together, to do good deeds as these saints have shown us in their lives. Please pray with me as I continue to work on this last stage of preparation for prayerfully considering the Republic of Moldova for our next missionary journey. May God’s will be done!
Love in Christ and God’s help in all things,
Christina Semon
OCMC Missionary to Romania
January 30, 2011
Dear Support Team,
My sincere greetings as we celebrate together the remembrance of the Holy Three Hierarchs. My friends, here we are already closing the first term of our missionary service. It is customary for OCMC Missionaries to come home after their assignment, and to return to OCMC for debriefing before touching base with family and friends. It is time for reviewing what I have learned from my first assignment so that I may apply it to my next assignment. Final consideration is being given to bridging my life experience in Romania with her eastern neighbor, The Republic of Moldova.
I have already begun to wrap up my ministry work in Romania while exploring this next field assignment. I am grateful to have been able to work alongside dedicated colleagues to gain from their experience in the organization of special activities, especially for the St. Dimitrie Program, in occupational therapy. My co-workers and good friends, OCMC Missionaries Floyd and Ancuta Frantz, have been guiding, teaching, and supporting me since I set foot in Romania, and even challenging me to answer all I feel the Lord is calling me to do. They are generously offering to continue working with me even while serving in my next assignment. To further help in this transition, I have been examining all I have learned thus far as a missionary so that I can build bridges to my next field of service.
The Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC) has initiated the process for reviewing and approving my 2nd term in The Republic of Moldova. It is new territory for missions; therefore the final stage is set for welcoming Father David Rucker, the Associate Director of OCMC, for a visit to the Metropolis Seat in the capitol city of Chisinau. Floyd Frantz and I have, on several occasions, journeyed to Moldova to see the outcome of Floyd's efforts with an anti-alcohol program, and to meet his network of friends in the Republic of Moldova. This Republic is one of the poorest countries in Europe. Communism ruled for 70 years until August 27th 1991 and, to this day, it still maintains a strong influence. There is a weak infrastructure of the Church in regard to youth ministry which impacts the current generation, and may affect who knows how many future generations to come. The needs of the Church are many, but especially needful is the development of spirituality among the faithful and youth ministry. My work experience in Romania could, by God's grace, be an effective and useful contribution in serving her Sister Church in Moldova. Also, this presents an opportunity to collaborate internationally, by possibly bringing together youth from Romania with youth in the Republic of Moldova and, if God wills, even from as far away as America to share and build friendship in the Body of Christ.
After just sharing with you the ministry prospects for serving in the Republic of Moldova, I will now bring us back to good old home. I will be coming home on February 18th, 2011 and departing on April 15th, 2011. I will be facing the normal side effects of reverse culture shock, but there is a wonderful blessing to reconnect with family and the support team. I value my communication with the support team because it reminds me that I am not alone on the field and that people’s prayers carry me through the challenges in my ministry and life, day by day. Your participation is important for me in this missionary service because the Lord works through us as we labor together in service. It is neat to share stories and updates on the front line where I am serving in the field. I also rejoice in your assistance in providing humanitarian aid for the Protection of the Theotokos Family Center (PTFC) to help clothe the children and mothers. I greatly appreciate my support team’s prayers and financial assistance more than you may realize. We now know that our relationship will have potential to grow deeper because the Lord has opened up a gate on the narrow path for us to enter into a new area for missionary work.
In conclusion, O Holy Three Hierarchs, please pray for us! These three great Hierarchs were known for many things, especially their leadership and labors for the Church. They appeared to the faithful to tell them that they were all equal in standing before God. They had harmony with each other because everything they did was united to Christ, the Head. Our friendship as well was given by the Lord to unite us in order to work for the Holy Spirit in the fulfillment of the Great Commission. Jesus Christ is the focus and force which is driving us to continue together, to do good deeds as these saints have shown us in their lives. Please pray with me as I continue to work on this last stage of preparation for prayerfully considering the Republic of Moldova for our next missionary journey. May God’s will be done!
Love in Christ and God’s help in all things,
Christina Semon
OCMC Missionary to Romania
Monday, February 14, 2011
Be part of a Family Mission Team!
This year the Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC) is proud to announce a collaboration with the Center for Family Care (of the Greek Archdiocese) by offering a Family Mission Team. Families from North America, along with Albanian families, will participate in this outreach assisted by OCMC missionaries and Albanian church leaders. The primary focus is to offer a “family witness” while sharing the faith and growing as a family in Christ. Consider being part of this first OCMC and Center for Family Care collaboration and family mission witness! Visit http://teams.ocmc.org, or e-mail teams@ocmc.org, for more information or to apply.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
OCMC Launches New Hunger Strike Program for Orthodox Christian Youth
An Orthodox Christian Fast For Change
“Let no one despise your youth, but be an example to the believers in word, in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, in purity.” – 1 Timothy 4:12
Hunger Strike is a new youth ministry of the Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC). Launched this year on a national level, Hunger Strike is already becoming a growing youth movement. Started at St. Paul’s Greek Orthodox Church in Irvine, CA three years ago, this vibrant ministry has already raised more than $10,000 and has Orthodox Christian teens striving to make a difference in the world by sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ and giving to those in need.
Hunger Strike is coordinated by local parishes, where teens fast for 30 hours while they participate in activities which raise both awareness and money for the needs of those throughout the world who suffer the effects of poverty and who hunger for the hope found in Christ. Hunger Strike helps teens to identify with the poor and respond compassionately to those living in harsh conditions in developing countries. Students also personalize and embrace their Orthodox faith and grow closer to Jesus Christ and each other as they learn to share their faith.
Prior to the Hunger Strike weekend, teens seek sponsors for the 30 hours they will fast. In addition to this fundraising component, teens build awareness about world hunger and poverty issues, as well as the global need to share the Gospel through international mission ministries.
When the teens arrive for the retreat, they are given "passports" depicting Orthodox Christian children from a mission country. Passports show photographs of children and offer descriptions of their lives, including their homes, schools, health, and chores. These passports are a result of previous mission trips by members of St. Paul’s through OCMC, in which interviews and photographs of the children were taken. The passports help to open a window into the lives of these Orthodox Christian children in the mission field and bring to life the harsh reality of living in a third world country to our children here in America.
Broken into five “villages,” the teens then compete against one another in a spirit of fun through specials games and activities that emphasize the need for clean water, adequate food, and energy in developing countries. They run relays, make Prosphoron, and participate in community service activities. Saturday’s activities culminate in a candlelight memorial service in the church. After Liturgy on Sunday, the teens have the opportunity to share with the parish all they learned and participated in during Hunger Strike.
Money raised through Hunger Strike goes directly to the Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC). OCMC uses these funds throughout the mission world to help children, families, and communities who suffer from poverty and who hunger for the hope found in Jesus Christ.
For more information on Hunger Strike or to register please go to www.OCHungerStrike.org or email us at HungerStrike@OCMC.org.
“Let no one despise your youth, but be an example to the believers in word, in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, in purity.” – 1 Timothy 4:12
Hunger Strike is a new youth ministry of the Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC). Launched this year on a national level, Hunger Strike is already becoming a growing youth movement. Started at St. Paul’s Greek Orthodox Church in Irvine, CA three years ago, this vibrant ministry has already raised more than $10,000 and has Orthodox Christian teens striving to make a difference in the world by sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ and giving to those in need.
Hunger Strike is coordinated by local parishes, where teens fast for 30 hours while they participate in activities which raise both awareness and money for the needs of those throughout the world who suffer the effects of poverty and who hunger for the hope found in Christ. Hunger Strike helps teens to identify with the poor and respond compassionately to those living in harsh conditions in developing countries. Students also personalize and embrace their Orthodox faith and grow closer to Jesus Christ and each other as they learn to share their faith.
Prior to the Hunger Strike weekend, teens seek sponsors for the 30 hours they will fast. In addition to this fundraising component, teens build awareness about world hunger and poverty issues, as well as the global need to share the Gospel through international mission ministries.
When the teens arrive for the retreat, they are given "passports" depicting Orthodox Christian children from a mission country. Passports show photographs of children and offer descriptions of their lives, including their homes, schools, health, and chores. These passports are a result of previous mission trips by members of St. Paul’s through OCMC, in which interviews and photographs of the children were taken. The passports help to open a window into the lives of these Orthodox Christian children in the mission field and bring to life the harsh reality of living in a third world country to our children here in America.
Broken into five “villages,” the teens then compete against one another in a spirit of fun through specials games and activities that emphasize the need for clean water, adequate food, and energy in developing countries. They run relays, make Prosphoron, and participate in community service activities. Saturday’s activities culminate in a candlelight memorial service in the church. After Liturgy on Sunday, the teens have the opportunity to share with the parish all they learned and participated in during Hunger Strike.
Money raised through Hunger Strike goes directly to the Orthodox Christian Mission Center (OCMC). OCMC uses these funds throughout the mission world to help children, families, and communities who suffer from poverty and who hunger for the hope found in Jesus Christ.
For more information on Hunger Strike or to register please go to www.OCHungerStrike.org or email us at HungerStrike@OCMC.org.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Russell Family Returns to the USA Completing Seven-and-a-Half Years of Service in Albania
George and Pauline Russell, together with their children Christopher and Maddy, have returned to Cleveland, Ohio after seven-and-a-half years of missionary service in Albania. We anticipate that Pauline’s mother, Melanie Linderman, who accompanied them to the field in 2003, will also be joining them soon. Pauline is still experiencing health issues, which she has struggled with for quite some time; therefore, she and George decided that it was best to return to the states. They were also interested in having their children reside closer to their grandparents at this time in their lives. As the Russell family prayerfully contemplated this move, a job offer came to George helping them make this decision. The Russells are currently writing their final missionary letter with all the details. OCMC is most grateful for the offering this family has made to the ministries of the Orthodox Church of Albania, through the prayers and blessings of His Beatitude ANASTASIOS.
We congratulate the Russell family for the completion of these years of missionary service, and we thank all who have made this ministry possible through your faithful financial support and prayers. During this time of transition as they conclude their service, the Russell family will continue to need support as they write reports, letters, and complete their work and ministry. OCMC encourages donations until 15 April 2011.
OCMC has a protocol for helping with the transition of returning missionaries and are working with them to assure a successful “re-entry”, reflecting with them on their ministry in Albania, providing pastoral support, and doing whatever is possible to assure a smooth transition home and facilitate resettlement for their family. Their new contact information is as follows:
George and Pauline Russell
1698 Pine Drive
Avon, OH 44011
Home: 440-508-7090
Email: georger@agrinomix.com
We congratulate the Russell family for the completion of these years of missionary service, and we thank all who have made this ministry possible through your faithful financial support and prayers. During this time of transition as they conclude their service, the Russell family will continue to need support as they write reports, letters, and complete their work and ministry. OCMC encourages donations until 15 April 2011.
OCMC has a protocol for helping with the transition of returning missionaries and are working with them to assure a successful “re-entry”, reflecting with them on their ministry in Albania, providing pastoral support, and doing whatever is possible to assure a smooth transition home and facilitate resettlement for their family. Their new contact information is as follows:
George and Pauline Russell
1698 Pine Drive
Avon, OH 44011
Home: 440-508-7090
Email: georger@agrinomix.com
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tanzania and James - Three Hierarchs 2011 Update
Dear Friends,
Furaha na amani! Joy and peace!
And greetings once again from Mwanza. For two weeks this month I was privileged to visit Kenya, the country where I was raised from age three until age eighteen. It was a delight to visit with Mom & Dad in the Kerio Valley and taste some of our delicious Cheptebo mangoes. I was also able to see old friends and faculty at Rift Valley Academy, where I was a boarding student 5th - 12th grade. And it was a special joy to be in Nairobi at Archbishop Makarios III Seminary on the Feastday of St. Makarios the Great, where the Liturgy was celebrated by Archbishop Makarios of Kenya.
But it's also very, very good to be back home in Mwanza, in my new home! I've been away since signing the lease, and so I am just moving in this week. I'd like to tell you a bit about what house-hunting can look like in urban East Africa.
When I moved to Mwanza in September of 2010, I began looking for a place to live the same way I would have done in the States. I went to the part of town I wanted to live in and started walking around, chatting with people, looking at houses. In urban Tanzania you don't see "For Rent" signs the way you do in North America. But there are "agents" who know the local situation, and who will help connect you with a landlord... for a cut. Unfortunately, in this part of the world, white skin is seen as a sign of wealth, and so can attract possibly unscrupulous people. I would find that, by the time I actually looked at a house, there might be as many as five "agents" in on the deal, each expecting a cut of the profit. This means that I was being offered rather inflated housing prices.
And so it became necessary for me to conduct my housing search by proxy, with local leadership at the Archdiocese doing the initial work. It was a sad learning experience for me-- as a North American, I want very much to be self-reliant and not to have to depend on others. Learning to depend on local leadership is of course a very good thing, and local leadership is very dependable. But even they did not find the task easy.
Mwanza has a population of two million and rising, as it is one of the most rapidly growing cities in Africa. Although Tanzania is still about 85% rural, our country is undergoing intense urbanization, and cities are overflowing their resources with great speed. So there's a severe housing shortage. To find secure and adequate lodging near the Archdiocese office, with a trustworthy landlord, proved to be a time-consuming and difficult endeavor.
After many false starts and more than a few dashed hopes, in early December of 2010 my priest, "Father P", was introduced to a local property owner. "Mama F" lives on the hill just above our Archdiocese office, and below Father P's house. She and her husband were expanding their compound to include two small apartments within its walls. She had heard that Father P had an associate looking for a place to live. So Father P and I climbed the hill to investigate the new apartment and to meet Mama F. It was still under construction, but I was assured it would be finished by Christmas. The initial rent offered was reasonable, and so we started negotiations.
Mama F and her husband proved to be trustworthy and kind, and construction proceeded apace. Every time I visited the site, I saw progress, and Mama F seemed eager for me to get to know her family. And so by mid-Christmas, just before the New Year, Father P and I sat down with Mama F and her husband Bwana S to finalize negotiations and sign the rental agreement. In a PS to this email, I would like to tell you what this negotiation looked like.
So now I have a place to live! In the three years since our Church moved headquarters from Bukoba to Mwanza, we have been searching for property on which to build a Cathedral and other Archdiocesan facilities. We have only just concluded negotiations and outright purchased property... yes, after three years of searching. My own housing search has helped me to understand and identify with the issues our Archdiocese faces as we develop an infrastructure in Mwanza. And it has helped me to identify with urban Tanzanians, who face similar stresses as they try to make a go of life in the city.
I am grateful for your continued prayers, encouragement and financial participation. God is using you to care for me as I learn to see the world through Tanzanian eyes, and as I continue to study Kiswahili. Thank you for the many ways that you support my work here in Tanzania.
By your prayers in Christ,
James Hargrave
PS At the end of December 2010, I signed a rental agreement for lodging here in Mwanza. This is how it went:
In North America, my experience with rental agreements is quite businesslike and efficient. I look at the place, meet the landlord, fill out the application. The landlord does a background check, and then might invite me to sign the rental agreement and pay the first month's rent. I sign, write out a check, and get the keys in short order. While we might exchange short pleasantries, signing a rental agreement does not really involve a relationship. In fact, I might even be doing business with a "property manager" who works on the landlord's behalf.
Not so there on the hill in Mwanza. By the time we sat down to go over the rental agreement, I already had a relationship of several weeks with Mama F and her family. When Fr P arrived, we were invited to sit in the courtyard with Mama F and Bwana S. Their teenage daughter brought us sodas, and as the four of us sipped we talked about the weather, about sports, about the economy, about the recent electricity problems, and about many other things. Eventually, Bwana S asked a four-year-old daughter to bring out the rental agreement. She handed a copy to each one of us (written in Kiswahili of course), and together the four of us went over each point, with much tangential conversation around every piece of the rental agreement.
The young daughter then carried one copy of the rental agreement, with a pen, to each of us. I signed as the tenant, Mama F signed as the property owner, and Father P and Bwana S signed as witnesses. Bwana S then returned the signed rental agreement to an envelope, and proposed that we go look at the apartment.
So we did, and there was much conversation about the window screens, and the paint on the walls, and the neighborhood in general. We then went back to our seats in the courtyard and conversation began afresh-- about social problems, employment, water, the weather, the economy... I noticed that nobody ever disagreed with anyone else. Instead, if Bwana S said something that Fr P might not have the same opinion about, Fr P would look down and laugh a bit, and would then say "Yes, you are right. And also..." and would then proceed to offer his own point of view.
After another hour or so of visiting together, the three Tanzanians all-- seemingly at the same moment-- looked at one another and said, "Haya." ("Alrighty then.") This was the signal for me to pull out my money pouch and hand over rent for the entire year.
The largest denomination of Tanzanian currency is worth about $7.00 in US money. Most transactions are done using cash. Rent in Mwanza is much lower than in an equivalent North American city-- Atlanta, for example-- but still. Can you imagine paying an entire year's rent in five-dollar bills?
First I counted out the money, and then handed it to Bwana S. He counted it, and handed it to Father P. And Father P counted it, then handed it to Mama F who placed it all in an envelope after counting it herself. This took maybe twenty minutes, and then our negotiation was concluded. Now I have a real relationship with my landlady and her family, and know that here in my apartment I will be part of a small community in this neighborhood.
Furaha na amani! Joy and peace!
And greetings once again from Mwanza. For two weeks this month I was privileged to visit Kenya, the country where I was raised from age three until age eighteen. It was a delight to visit with Mom & Dad in the Kerio Valley and taste some of our delicious Cheptebo mangoes. I was also able to see old friends and faculty at Rift Valley Academy, where I was a boarding student 5th - 12th grade. And it was a special joy to be in Nairobi at Archbishop Makarios III Seminary on the Feastday of St. Makarios the Great, where the Liturgy was celebrated by Archbishop Makarios of Kenya.
But it's also very, very good to be back home in Mwanza, in my new home! I've been away since signing the lease, and so I am just moving in this week. I'd like to tell you a bit about what house-hunting can look like in urban East Africa.
When I moved to Mwanza in September of 2010, I began looking for a place to live the same way I would have done in the States. I went to the part of town I wanted to live in and started walking around, chatting with people, looking at houses. In urban Tanzania you don't see "For Rent" signs the way you do in North America. But there are "agents" who know the local situation, and who will help connect you with a landlord... for a cut. Unfortunately, in this part of the world, white skin is seen as a sign of wealth, and so can attract possibly unscrupulous people. I would find that, by the time I actually looked at a house, there might be as many as five "agents" in on the deal, each expecting a cut of the profit. This means that I was being offered rather inflated housing prices.
And so it became necessary for me to conduct my housing search by proxy, with local leadership at the Archdiocese doing the initial work. It was a sad learning experience for me-- as a North American, I want very much to be self-reliant and not to have to depend on others. Learning to depend on local leadership is of course a very good thing, and local leadership is very dependable. But even they did not find the task easy.
Mwanza has a population of two million and rising, as it is one of the most rapidly growing cities in Africa. Although Tanzania is still about 85% rural, our country is undergoing intense urbanization, and cities are overflowing their resources with great speed. So there's a severe housing shortage. To find secure and adequate lodging near the Archdiocese office, with a trustworthy landlord, proved to be a time-consuming and difficult endeavor.
After many false starts and more than a few dashed hopes, in early December of 2010 my priest, "Father P", was introduced to a local property owner. "Mama F" lives on the hill just above our Archdiocese office, and below Father P's house. She and her husband were expanding their compound to include two small apartments within its walls. She had heard that Father P had an associate looking for a place to live. So Father P and I climbed the hill to investigate the new apartment and to meet Mama F. It was still under construction, but I was assured it would be finished by Christmas. The initial rent offered was reasonable, and so we started negotiations.
Mama F and her husband proved to be trustworthy and kind, and construction proceeded apace. Every time I visited the site, I saw progress, and Mama F seemed eager for me to get to know her family. And so by mid-Christmas, just before the New Year, Father P and I sat down with Mama F and her husband Bwana S to finalize negotiations and sign the rental agreement. In a PS to this email, I would like to tell you what this negotiation looked like.
So now I have a place to live! In the three years since our Church moved headquarters from Bukoba to Mwanza, we have been searching for property on which to build a Cathedral and other Archdiocesan facilities. We have only just concluded negotiations and outright purchased property... yes, after three years of searching. My own housing search has helped me to understand and identify with the issues our Archdiocese faces as we develop an infrastructure in Mwanza. And it has helped me to identify with urban Tanzanians, who face similar stresses as they try to make a go of life in the city.
I am grateful for your continued prayers, encouragement and financial participation. God is using you to care for me as I learn to see the world through Tanzanian eyes, and as I continue to study Kiswahili. Thank you for the many ways that you support my work here in Tanzania.
By your prayers in Christ,
James Hargrave
PS At the end of December 2010, I signed a rental agreement for lodging here in Mwanza. This is how it went:
In North America, my experience with rental agreements is quite businesslike and efficient. I look at the place, meet the landlord, fill out the application. The landlord does a background check, and then might invite me to sign the rental agreement and pay the first month's rent. I sign, write out a check, and get the keys in short order. While we might exchange short pleasantries, signing a rental agreement does not really involve a relationship. In fact, I might even be doing business with a "property manager" who works on the landlord's behalf.
Not so there on the hill in Mwanza. By the time we sat down to go over the rental agreement, I already had a relationship of several weeks with Mama F and her family. When Fr P arrived, we were invited to sit in the courtyard with Mama F and Bwana S. Their teenage daughter brought us sodas, and as the four of us sipped we talked about the weather, about sports, about the economy, about the recent electricity problems, and about many other things. Eventually, Bwana S asked a four-year-old daughter to bring out the rental agreement. She handed a copy to each one of us (written in Kiswahili of course), and together the four of us went over each point, with much tangential conversation around every piece of the rental agreement.
The young daughter then carried one copy of the rental agreement, with a pen, to each of us. I signed as the tenant, Mama F signed as the property owner, and Father P and Bwana S signed as witnesses. Bwana S then returned the signed rental agreement to an envelope, and proposed that we go look at the apartment.
So we did, and there was much conversation about the window screens, and the paint on the walls, and the neighborhood in general. We then went back to our seats in the courtyard and conversation began afresh-- about social problems, employment, water, the weather, the economy... I noticed that nobody ever disagreed with anyone else. Instead, if Bwana S said something that Fr P might not have the same opinion about, Fr P would look down and laugh a bit, and would then say "Yes, you are right. And also..." and would then proceed to offer his own point of view.
After another hour or so of visiting together, the three Tanzanians all-- seemingly at the same moment-- looked at one another and said, "Haya." ("Alrighty then.") This was the signal for me to pull out my money pouch and hand over rent for the entire year.
The largest denomination of Tanzanian currency is worth about $7.00 in US money. Most transactions are done using cash. Rent in Mwanza is much lower than in an equivalent North American city-- Atlanta, for example-- but still. Can you imagine paying an entire year's rent in five-dollar bills?
First I counted out the money, and then handed it to Bwana S. He counted it, and handed it to Father P. And Father P counted it, then handed it to Mama F who placed it all in an envelope after counting it herself. This took maybe twenty minutes, and then our negotiation was concluded. Now I have a real relationship with my landlady and her family, and know that here in my apartment I will be part of a small community in this neighborhood.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I Can't Do This Alone: An Update from Missionary Michael Pagedas
Heri ya Mwaka Mpya! (Happy New Year!)
I have been trying to keep these articles focused on spiritual and cultural discoveries that I have made here, but sometimes I just feel like I need to write about things that interest me and may be meaningful to you, even if they may not outwardly appear to be related to my mission. The truth is, each of these things helps to form and shape me, and who I am as a Missionary.
In keeping with my tradition of trying to do something exciting to distract myself from being away from home during the holidays, I did something that will undoubtedly set the bar high for all future (and God willing, many) New Year’s Eve celebrations. I went to Mgahinga National Park in southwestern Uganda to track the endangered mountain gorilla. This park lies in the Virunga volcano region that spans the countries of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The movie Gorillas in the Mist was filmed in this region back in the late 80s, and that movie was one of my inspirations for visiting. Mountain gorillas were dangerously close to becoming extinct, and with the help of people like Dian Fossey, their numbers are holding steady and even making a resurgence [that I should go on my trek five days after the 25th anniversary of Dian Fossey’s murder can either be chalked up as a freak coincidence or destiny]. Mountain gorillas are one of two subspecies of gorilla, the other being the Western Lowland gorilla, which are the gorillas you find in zoos (mountain gorillas do not live in captivity). Of the 720 remaining mountain gorillas in the world, 380 live on the Virunga volcanoes and the rest of them live nearby in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.
Another inspiration for my wanting to visit the gorillas was Carl Akeley. Carl Akeley isn’t exactly a household name, but you’re probably familiar with his work. If you have ever been to a Natural History Museum and seen a diorama with animals in it, you can thank Carl Akeley. He revolutionized the art of taxidermy and was the first taxidermist to ever assemble a complete habitat group diorama--a muskrat diorama which can still be seen today at the Milwaukee Public Museum.1 Akeley was also a key player behind the Hall of African Mammals at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. After collecting specimens in Africa in the early 1920s, Akeley discovered that the natural African landscapes he had come to know and love were already being rapidly developed into farmland and encroached upon by civilization. He wanted to do something that would preserve unspoiled Africa for future generations, and that is how he came upon the idea for the Hall of African Mammals. Each diorama depicts a different animal group in a particular region of Africa as that region had appeared before urban or even rural development. In some cases, these places no longer exist as they appear in the dioramas, with exceptions like the Serengeti Plain. One of the dioramas depicts a group of gorillas in the Virunga volcanoes in a specific area that Akeley had visited and loved (and where he is now buried). On my many visits to the AMNH, I was always drawn to that exhibit not only because of its vivid detail but because it seemed like a place that I, too, would one day like to see firsthand. One of Akeley’s biggest legacies was persuading Belgium’s King Leopold II to establish the first national park in Africa in 1925--Parc Nationale Albert--around the Kivu volcanoes in what was then the Belgian Congo.2 The protected area now includes Mgahinga National Park, so the mountain gorillas are guaranteed a safe haven, thanks in part to Carl Akeley.
Fast forward to December 31, 2010. As our tour bus made its way up the bumpy dirt road to our drop-off location, I noticed that the land all around the volcanoes (and even partway up the volcanoes) had been developed into farmland. What would Carl think? Even the first part of our journey on foot up the mountain took us through several acres of farmland. However, I quickly discovered that gorilla conservation would be the least of my concerns. I hadn’t prepared myself for the degree of difficulty of the climb. I didn’t bring enough water with me, and I was out before I knew it. I also didn’t plan on altitude exhaustion, which quickly overtook me. The rangers told us that the mountain was 3474 meters high. That didn’t seem like much until I did the conversion later and discovered that it’s almost 11,400 feet!! I consider myself pretty physically fit, and within the first few minutes, I was already at the back of our group, which consisted mostly of young to middle-aged athletic European tourists who probably have scaled taller mountains and are more used to being at a higher altitude than me. I was soon stopping every couple of minutes and came very close to quitting at least a couple of times.
Here is what got me up that mountain:
-The patience and support of my fellow travelers: the six other tourists in my group and the local guides who accompanied us. No one rolled their eyes at me or expressed disgust for my taking longer. They all understood what I was going through, and they told me that we would reach the gorillas together and that I wouldn’t be left behind.
-My desire to see those darn gorillas because I had come all that way and spent a lot of money on a permit (money which came out of a special savings account I have and not from my mission account). A maximum of 8 people are allowed up the mountain each day to see the gorillas, and I was told that several people who had come to the park that day, but who hadn’t booked ahead of time, were turned away. With that in mind, I didn’t want to waste this golden opportunity.
-Prayer. I was physically maxed out and had nothing left in the tank, but I still had a determination to finish what I had started. I began praying to everyone I could think of. Within a few minutes, one of the porters who had joined our group to help carry extra luggage dropped to the back of the group where I was. His name was Simon, and I would later find out he was only 16 years old. Despite the fact that he was wearing a large backpack, he held out his hand to me. I gratefully took it, and we continued walking up the mountain together. As odd as it may sound, the climb was much easier holding his hand, even though he was merely guiding and not actually pulling me up. To make things even better, he spoke and understood Swahili! (Swahili is not commonly spoken in Uganda, especially in the smaller villages like the one where we started our climb) I was able to communicate how I felt to him in a way that he could understand. I told both him and the lead guide that I had been hit with malaria the previous week and was still on the mend (I really don’t think malaria was the difference, but it helped me save face). Talking to Simon also took my mind off the pain and exhaustion I was feeling. Even though Simon wasn’t carrying my bag, he got a nice tip from me at the end.
One of the variables of gorilla tracking is that you never know how long it will take to find the gorillas or where exactly they will be. Some people have spent several hours just getting to the gorillas. Trackers are sent up the mountain early each morning to facilitate finding the gorillas, but that doesn’t making getting to them any easier. Much of the journey was spent going up steep embankments with not much room for a foothold and only vines and thorny brambles to grab onto for support. When we got closer to the gorillas, we began zigzagging up, down, and sideways, all in an effort to stay on their trail. We finally reached the gorillas around 2 hours after we started the hike. I was physically and emotionally spent, but nothing on earth can match the feeling of being less than 15 feet away from a wild animal that knows you are there but allows you to get up close anyway. I had a snapshot and video camera with me, and both were immediately put into action. It was hard for me to keep my hands steady in the beginning to get good shots, not because I was scared but because I had been pulling and grasping at things for the past two hours, and my muscles were already in recharge mode. Eventually, I relaxed and was able to enjoy my time with creatures that seemed like old friends by the end of our allotted hour with them.
I learned a couple of things from this experience. One is that a 500-pound gorilla really does sleep anywhere he wants. The other is that even when I think I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself, I am proven otherwise. Take, for instance, my recent bout with malaria. There is no way I could have gotten through that without help from above and from the people around me. Likewise, I probably would never have made it up that mountain without help from above and the patience and physical assistance of those who were with me. I could easily say that the mountain is an allegory for my life struggles, but I won’t do that. Simply put, it was a physical challenge that I was able to overcome only with the help of those around me. In a like manner, I have learned to become reliant on God and the people He has put in my life to help me through my experience in Africa.
Closing thoughts:
As glad as I am that I went up Mt. Mgahinga to see those gorillas, I would never do it again. For me, it was one of those things you do once and then move on. Plus, things like this usually lose something the second time around, and it definitely would not be worth killing myself again for another go-around.
Although the mountain gorillas are protected for now, they are still threatened by poaching and have been maimed or even killed by traps and snares set for other animals. They are also susceptible to human diseases (remember how close we are), and visitors cannot make the trek if they are ill. Then there is the uncertainty of further land development and even war and civil unrest, especially in the DRC.
I still can’t get over how small the remaining gorilla territory is. These mountains are refuges, but they’re islands of refuge with no way to get off unless it’s through someone’s backyard. Although the gorillas are still free to roam across international borders into Rwanda and the DRC, the gorillas are pretty much stuck on those mountains with very little chance of being able to move somewhere else. The parks in Central Africa have become a safe haven for the mountain gorilla in much the same way that Manhattan was a safe haven for prisoners in the movie Escape from New York.
It appears as though the fate of the gorillas will end in one of three ways: 1) they will make a huge comeback and outgrow their territory, creating an even bigger problem; 2) they will establish a stable population that will allow them to live in equilibrium with their surroundings; 3) they will become extinct from disease, poaching, or further encroachment by humans into their territory. As happy as I was to have had the chance to see live gorillas on their home turf, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pessimism afterward. Conservation work is being done at all levels, but there’s still a very real chance that in the future your only chance of seeing a mountain gorilla will be at a place like the American Museum of Natural History. For now, the gorillas have their “living museum” and will hopefully keep it for a long time.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
1 Stephen Christopher Quinn, Windows on Nature (New York: Abrams in association with the American Museum of Natural History, 2006), p.15
2 Quinn, p. 27
I have been trying to keep these articles focused on spiritual and cultural discoveries that I have made here, but sometimes I just feel like I need to write about things that interest me and may be meaningful to you, even if they may not outwardly appear to be related to my mission. The truth is, each of these things helps to form and shape me, and who I am as a Missionary.
In keeping with my tradition of trying to do something exciting to distract myself from being away from home during the holidays, I did something that will undoubtedly set the bar high for all future (and God willing, many) New Year’s Eve celebrations. I went to Mgahinga National Park in southwestern Uganda to track the endangered mountain gorilla. This park lies in the Virunga volcano region that spans the countries of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The movie Gorillas in the Mist was filmed in this region back in the late 80s, and that movie was one of my inspirations for visiting. Mountain gorillas were dangerously close to becoming extinct, and with the help of people like Dian Fossey, their numbers are holding steady and even making a resurgence [that I should go on my trek five days after the 25th anniversary of Dian Fossey’s murder can either be chalked up as a freak coincidence or destiny]. Mountain gorillas are one of two subspecies of gorilla, the other being the Western Lowland gorilla, which are the gorillas you find in zoos (mountain gorillas do not live in captivity). Of the 720 remaining mountain gorillas in the world, 380 live on the Virunga volcanoes and the rest of them live nearby in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.
Another inspiration for my wanting to visit the gorillas was Carl Akeley. Carl Akeley isn’t exactly a household name, but you’re probably familiar with his work. If you have ever been to a Natural History Museum and seen a diorama with animals in it, you can thank Carl Akeley. He revolutionized the art of taxidermy and was the first taxidermist to ever assemble a complete habitat group diorama--a muskrat diorama which can still be seen today at the Milwaukee Public Museum.1 Akeley was also a key player behind the Hall of African Mammals at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. After collecting specimens in Africa in the early 1920s, Akeley discovered that the natural African landscapes he had come to know and love were already being rapidly developed into farmland and encroached upon by civilization. He wanted to do something that would preserve unspoiled Africa for future generations, and that is how he came upon the idea for the Hall of African Mammals. Each diorama depicts a different animal group in a particular region of Africa as that region had appeared before urban or even rural development. In some cases, these places no longer exist as they appear in the dioramas, with exceptions like the Serengeti Plain. One of the dioramas depicts a group of gorillas in the Virunga volcanoes in a specific area that Akeley had visited and loved (and where he is now buried). On my many visits to the AMNH, I was always drawn to that exhibit not only because of its vivid detail but because it seemed like a place that I, too, would one day like to see firsthand. One of Akeley’s biggest legacies was persuading Belgium’s King Leopold II to establish the first national park in Africa in 1925--Parc Nationale Albert--around the Kivu volcanoes in what was then the Belgian Congo.2 The protected area now includes Mgahinga National Park, so the mountain gorillas are guaranteed a safe haven, thanks in part to Carl Akeley.
Fast forward to December 31, 2010. As our tour bus made its way up the bumpy dirt road to our drop-off location, I noticed that the land all around the volcanoes (and even partway up the volcanoes) had been developed into farmland. What would Carl think? Even the first part of our journey on foot up the mountain took us through several acres of farmland. However, I quickly discovered that gorilla conservation would be the least of my concerns. I hadn’t prepared myself for the degree of difficulty of the climb. I didn’t bring enough water with me, and I was out before I knew it. I also didn’t plan on altitude exhaustion, which quickly overtook me. The rangers told us that the mountain was 3474 meters high. That didn’t seem like much until I did the conversion later and discovered that it’s almost 11,400 feet!! I consider myself pretty physically fit, and within the first few minutes, I was already at the back of our group, which consisted mostly of young to middle-aged athletic European tourists who probably have scaled taller mountains and are more used to being at a higher altitude than me. I was soon stopping every couple of minutes and came very close to quitting at least a couple of times.
Here is what got me up that mountain:
-The patience and support of my fellow travelers: the six other tourists in my group and the local guides who accompanied us. No one rolled their eyes at me or expressed disgust for my taking longer. They all understood what I was going through, and they told me that we would reach the gorillas together and that I wouldn’t be left behind.
-My desire to see those darn gorillas because I had come all that way and spent a lot of money on a permit (money which came out of a special savings account I have and not from my mission account). A maximum of 8 people are allowed up the mountain each day to see the gorillas, and I was told that several people who had come to the park that day, but who hadn’t booked ahead of time, were turned away. With that in mind, I didn’t want to waste this golden opportunity.
-Prayer. I was physically maxed out and had nothing left in the tank, but I still had a determination to finish what I had started. I began praying to everyone I could think of. Within a few minutes, one of the porters who had joined our group to help carry extra luggage dropped to the back of the group where I was. His name was Simon, and I would later find out he was only 16 years old. Despite the fact that he was wearing a large backpack, he held out his hand to me. I gratefully took it, and we continued walking up the mountain together. As odd as it may sound, the climb was much easier holding his hand, even though he was merely guiding and not actually pulling me up. To make things even better, he spoke and understood Swahili! (Swahili is not commonly spoken in Uganda, especially in the smaller villages like the one where we started our climb) I was able to communicate how I felt to him in a way that he could understand. I told both him and the lead guide that I had been hit with malaria the previous week and was still on the mend (I really don’t think malaria was the difference, but it helped me save face). Talking to Simon also took my mind off the pain and exhaustion I was feeling. Even though Simon wasn’t carrying my bag, he got a nice tip from me at the end.
One of the variables of gorilla tracking is that you never know how long it will take to find the gorillas or where exactly they will be. Some people have spent several hours just getting to the gorillas. Trackers are sent up the mountain early each morning to facilitate finding the gorillas, but that doesn’t making getting to them any easier. Much of the journey was spent going up steep embankments with not much room for a foothold and only vines and thorny brambles to grab onto for support. When we got closer to the gorillas, we began zigzagging up, down, and sideways, all in an effort to stay on their trail. We finally reached the gorillas around 2 hours after we started the hike. I was physically and emotionally spent, but nothing on earth can match the feeling of being less than 15 feet away from a wild animal that knows you are there but allows you to get up close anyway. I had a snapshot and video camera with me, and both were immediately put into action. It was hard for me to keep my hands steady in the beginning to get good shots, not because I was scared but because I had been pulling and grasping at things for the past two hours, and my muscles were already in recharge mode. Eventually, I relaxed and was able to enjoy my time with creatures that seemed like old friends by the end of our allotted hour with them.
I learned a couple of things from this experience. One is that a 500-pound gorilla really does sleep anywhere he wants. The other is that even when I think I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself, I am proven otherwise. Take, for instance, my recent bout with malaria. There is no way I could have gotten through that without help from above and from the people around me. Likewise, I probably would never have made it up that mountain without help from above and the patience and physical assistance of those who were with me. I could easily say that the mountain is an allegory for my life struggles, but I won’t do that. Simply put, it was a physical challenge that I was able to overcome only with the help of those around me. In a like manner, I have learned to become reliant on God and the people He has put in my life to help me through my experience in Africa.
Closing thoughts:
As glad as I am that I went up Mt. Mgahinga to see those gorillas, I would never do it again. For me, it was one of those things you do once and then move on. Plus, things like this usually lose something the second time around, and it definitely would not be worth killing myself again for another go-around.
Although the mountain gorillas are protected for now, they are still threatened by poaching and have been maimed or even killed by traps and snares set for other animals. They are also susceptible to human diseases (remember how close we are), and visitors cannot make the trek if they are ill. Then there is the uncertainty of further land development and even war and civil unrest, especially in the DRC.
I still can’t get over how small the remaining gorilla territory is. These mountains are refuges, but they’re islands of refuge with no way to get off unless it’s through someone’s backyard. Although the gorillas are still free to roam across international borders into Rwanda and the DRC, the gorillas are pretty much stuck on those mountains with very little chance of being able to move somewhere else. The parks in Central Africa have become a safe haven for the mountain gorilla in much the same way that Manhattan was a safe haven for prisoners in the movie Escape from New York.
It appears as though the fate of the gorillas will end in one of three ways: 1) they will make a huge comeback and outgrow their territory, creating an even bigger problem; 2) they will establish a stable population that will allow them to live in equilibrium with their surroundings; 3) they will become extinct from disease, poaching, or further encroachment by humans into their territory. As happy as I was to have had the chance to see live gorillas on their home turf, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pessimism afterward. Conservation work is being done at all levels, but there’s still a very real chance that in the future your only chance of seeing a mountain gorilla will be at a place like the American Museum of Natural History. For now, the gorillas have their “living museum” and will hopefully keep it for a long time.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
1 Stephen Christopher Quinn, Windows on Nature (New York: Abrams in association with the American Museum of Natural History, 2006), p.15
2 Quinn, p. 27
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
