If you have read any of my blogs so far, you are well aware that I prefer to not beat around the bush. Blunt, raw recollections of events passed are, in my opinion, the most genuine portrayals of reality. Africa is not in the least what I envisioned it would be, so with an open mind, please buckle down and I will explain why.
If we’re being honest, three weeks ago when I lay in bed daydreaming of Africa, the first pictures that came to my mind were smiling women and children wearing bright colors, dancing and singing sweet, African melodies. I pictured everyone welcoming us with open arms. It is difficult to put into words how mislead I allowed my mind to be.
In hearing that we would be partaking in street evangelism, passing out fliers to locals and inviting them to a newly planted church, I was ecstatic. My optimism of the days to come gave way to confidence that we would be received respectfully by the locals, mainly because Zambia has been labeled a ‘Christian Nation’. The seriousness of our situation revealed itself with a back-handed slap of reality when we quickly became aware of who exactly we were evangelizing to in the run-down village south of Lusaka.
I like to think of myself as an observational person, taking in my surroundings and making mental notes of what stands out and what doesn’t; each detail mesmerizing in it’s own unique way. The first thing that caught my eye our first day in the village was the large amount of men making their way up and down the long, dirt road. At first they eyed us cautiously with perplexed looks as they passed by us, some waving and returning our “hello”, while others kept their faces forward, not giving us a second glance. The children of the village were the first brave souls to ask about our presence, which then gave us an opportunity to share Jesus with them and invite them to church. The smiles and laughter of the boys and girls, each taking a flier and expressing their thanks, made my heart full with warmth and peace; the hunger for Jesus so evident on their bright, young faces. As the excitement of our presence wore off we began to attract more adults, questioning our purpose in their village, each person genuinely interested in the little fliers we held in our hands. As our confidence grew, we waved and smiled at each passing person, hoping to spark conversation; who knew we were about to experience the burn of that spark.
Most people have experienced being in the presence of a drunk individual, myself included. However, as a group of six white women, we seemed to attract crowds of drunk men. At first glance we wouldn’t realize that they were highly intoxicated until they were leaning in towards our faces, the sour stench of liquor escaping from their breath. We stood our ground, smiling and asking them if they knew Jesus while offering them a flier. Most of the men would try to reach out and touch our faces, grab our knees or even attempt at a quick kiss on the cheek, while each of us pushed off their advances. Each day that we returned to evangelize the men would make their way over to us, a few in particular getting aggressive to the point where we had to repeatedly ask them to leave because they made us question our physical safety. One man took the situation to a whole new level when he pulled down his pants and began humping the air when my teammate passed by him on the road.
Our mental and spiritual strength has been repeatedly tested as we have willingly gone to battle for Christ with these men who so clearly need the Lord’s presence in their lives. People, if you think that this Missions Trip is just an opportunity to take pictures and have a leisurely year abroad, you are highly mistaken. Eyes need to be opened about what we’re doing over here. We aren’t playing with children 24-7 and braiding each other’s hair; we are quite literally getting harassed by drunken men every single day on the field, gritting our teeth and trying to share the gospel repeatedly even when it’s to closed ears.
As I sit here, frustrated and mentally exhausted, Psalms 144 keeps repeating in my head. “Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle; he is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me.”
This trip is a battle against Satan and his death-grip on the hearts of the people here. It isn’t pretty and it is definitely not fun. Each of us here are willingly giving a year of our lives, without an income or a guaranteed roof over our heads to go out and spread the gospel.
I hope you do not confuse my urgency with complaining. I am attempting to be as black-and-white with you all as I can be. We are in the heart of Satan’s battlefield here in Africa, diving head-first into a culture being suffocated by alcohol, sex and drugs. We are in absolute need of your prayers for the people here; that their eyes will be opened and their hearts exposed to the healing that Jesus offers them.
No matter how many times we are yelled at, laughed at, grabbed and spit on, we return day after day to preach the word of God to the people here. I refuse to give up on them and neither should you. Please join us, prayer warriors. We need you now more than ever.
2 Timothy 1:7 “For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”
I am still fundraising in hopes to continue on this life-changing journey on The World Race. To donate, please go to baileyswartzenberger.theworldrace.org
God bless,
Bailey
