Seated in a busy down town restaurant. A buzz of activity around us. Total city atmosphere. All sorts of people.

I was shyly smiling….He was looking profound….we giggled…..he had a tear in his eye at one stage….big gesturing…me taking a self concious sip of wine….

But.

No one would have guessed what we were talking about.

It wasn’t obvious at all. We were throwing around ideas, concepts, random thoughts, and hopes for our new life group.

I suppose….in those magical moments…i fully realize why I married who I did. I hear him speak about his ideas and I’m always left a bit speechless. He says things like no one else.

It’s complex. I can’t say i don’t sometimes wish we were normal……that we went out for the evening and talked about ourselves….that I was flattered off my feet….but yet…in that one moment..I have to say hand on heart I wouldn’t’ have it any other way.
THIS…is us. This is real.

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Anyway its brought some other old Africa stuff out of the closet to. I think I am gonna be blogging and posting more again.

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Anyway before I get stroppy…..

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Anyway they were;

1. If you were to describe you experience of church as a smell what would it be?
2. What Church was a flavour what should it taste like?
3. If you think of church in terms of a biscuit, what biscuit describes you experience of church? What biscuit do you think church should remind you of?
4. Describe what you want from church in terms of a colour
5. What sound would best describe your expectation of the presence of God?

Feel free to comment.

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Growing up, the smell of brewing coffee was a familiar smell. My father loves coffee….it was the smell of the morning.  I also love coffee shops…you know, the evil chain ones!! Where no matter where you are in the world, you step in, and are immediately engulfed by a warmth and a familiar smell that makes you feel right at home. My Aunt and Uncle love coffee too, and  I have many distinctive memories of the smell of lovely coffee being poured into nice cups after a meal….always accompanied by some lovely desert.

Coffee makers are regular features in most American homes. They are as standard as having an electric kettle (which most American homes still don’t have) When I moved to Ireland I quickly got used to the ritual of boiling the kettle and then choosing between tea or freeze dried coffee. It wasn’t so bad. The instant coffee wasn’t as bad as the fine powdery stuff one associates it with back in the states. So I didn’t think too much about it. Until one evening, we were having a small group meeting from church, and my friend Marie was hosting it. At that time I didn’t know her well. She was a fellow American living in Limerick and working with the church. But when I stepped into her home that evening, it hit me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee. She has obviously invested in a coffee maker as a necessity, and as she was hosting a meeting in her home, she had done the traditional American thing of brewing a pot of coffee before everyone arrived. I was reminded of just how much nicer properly brewed coffee is. It was such a comforting feeling….being all cozied up in her living room, cup of coffee in hand. I felt at home. It’s the smell more than anything..the atmosphere.

So Jon and I are starting a new Life Group (small group/house group/house church/cell group) out of New Life Church. Our friends Dan and Jayne are joining us and together we really looking forward to it. Today was our kick off party. We invited several families over for a bring and share Sunday lunch and it was great fun. Kids were running around everywhere and conversations were buzzing. Jon made a massive pot of chilli, and we had to borrow plates from the church because we did not have enough ourselves. It was a really great feeling being able to open our home and have so many people over. Eventually we’re hoping to reach out into the estate we’re living on…and join in with whatever God has planned for this place.  For now though, we’re just focusing on establishing our group, forming genuine friendships, and gaining  a real  sense of community.

We want there to be a richness about our group. Not a material richness…but a sense that God has something to give us and wants to really meet us and be real in our lives.  Sometimes Christians have a bad reputation for doing things on the cheap. Custard creams and instant coffee after the meeting…that sort of thing. Although you could argue that’s being sensible and all that…we are wanting our group to reflect the blessing and richness of God in a way that helps people to realize they are loved, valued, and deserving of God’s goodness in their lives. So we’ve really pushed the boat out…and bought….a coffee maker. Actually it wasn’t that expensive….a small thing really…but I’m really looking forward to putting a pot on to brew this coming Tuesday….and everything else that’s going to happen with this group in the coming months!

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The first looking at what we know as clear and basic biblical truth, then  I want to look at what this means in terms of biblical intrepretation and how we read the bible.

The basic truths about the end times which I believe are self evident in the New Testament.

• Jesus will come again physically, this will mark the completion of this age.
• Every eye will see him when he comes again.
• He will judge the living and the dead.
• No one knows the date or the hour of his return.
• It will be proceeded by a time of struggle strife and persecution for the church.
• It will be proceeded by false prophets, and messiahs.
• After he comes he will establish the completion of his kingdom.
• When Jesus speaks of his Kingdom in the gospels he is not always reffereing to the end times, but often to his rule in the here and now.
• That we have been in the last days since his crucifixion.

Most serious evangelical scholars of any position ( pre-millenial, post -millenial or a-millenial.), will agree with the abover statements, and to my mind it forms a basis of biblical truth on the subject that can be preached without causing strife or grief between believers.

My stance is somewhere between what Jason Bee calls pan millenialsim (it will all pan out in the end) and an a-millenial stance which sees end times teaching as a simple progressions of

1. Jesus first coming – Recorded in the gosepls
2. Church Age ( which is the millenium mentioned in Revalation 20 )
3. Tribulation and trials – including false prophest and teachers – which leads into
4. The coming of the final antichrist(s)
5. The 2nd coming of Christ – including what most people call the rapture.
6. Judgement
7. The New Heaven and the New Earth

Compared to the classic penetcostal stance which Paul Williams has taught this is am much simpler model , which holds very closely with the direct teaching of Jesus in Matthew 23. This leads one to ask why people have come to the understanding which Paul has preached recently.

The answers is how we treate and use the book of Revelation. The classic pentecostal stance sees Revelation as a book of one (or sometimes two seperate visions), which are all placed in the future, which are linear in progression and are as literalistic as possible in interpretation.  If you take this stance on how to read the book of Revalation you start to need to do the theological somersaults that a pre millenial stand takes.

The question remains  ‘Is this correct way to interpret the book of Revelation?’.  My resounding answer would be No. I believe it is applying standard to the book of Revelation which the book was never written for.

In the last 300 years our socities view of truth has become scientific, we regard truth is only what is seen as being sceintifically, physically and literally true. Other forms of revalation and belief are seen as opinion and not ‘truth’.

Thus if we believe the bible to be the Word of God and to be true. We start to understand this in solely terms all of the bible needing to be literal and scientifically true, to be seen as beign  authorative. In this mindset to interpret any form of biblical litearture as none literal, symbolic or allegorical, is to see it as less true or an attack on the authority of scripture.

I dont see this as being appropriate for reading literature that was written 2000 years ago, to apply a modern sceitific and literalistic mindset to a form of ancient writing written 1700 years before that mindset became common place seems out of place, and to a certain extent a shows desire to twist scripture in a way that was never meant at its time of writitng. We need to understand revelation as it was written not by a modern set of standards or by a modern standard of truth.

I am quite clear in my view that the book of revelation is not one clear, linear prediction of the future. But a number of illustartion of things which have happened in the past and will happen in the future described and explained from numerous angles with numerous emphasis. These visions use large degress of imagery from the Old Testament, and are not plainly spoken.

Evidence for this comes from

1. Repeated themes recurring in the books.
2. Clear references to things in the Life of Christ, and in cosmological history (the fall of a thirds of the angels).
3. The vivid use of Old testament pictoral langauge.
4. The progression of themes from vision to vision in the book.
5. Scholarly opinion on the nature of apocolyptic literature.
6. The need of John ot to be planespoken in his writing as he was in prison in patmos at the time of writing

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Firstly, I don’t think of it as causing a stink.  It’s a disagreement with someone. I have a lot of time for Paul and agree with him on vast variety of issues. I think the ministry himself and Merle have brought into the church has been very valuable. I just happen to think on this issue Paul hasn’t fallen on the right side.

I do also think it’s important to debate the issue because of a number of factors, some relating to the church situation, but most relating to good theology and good biblical interpretation.

It is a distinct change in the churches historical position on the subject.

Previously the elders presiding over the teaching in the church (Roy and Rob) did not hold his viewpoint, did not teach his viewpoint, and I believe would not have allowed his viewpoint to have been aired on a Sunday morning. I believe to use the opportunity of NLC not having an elder with theological training, to bring us a new (to us) and different line of teaching was potentially divisive and a mistake .

It can undermine the authority of Preaching

I think this sort of preaching can lead to a disrespect of the pulpit.  When we preach,we claim to be declaring the truth of Gods word, and as such believe we speak with some level of authority because we do so. When we say such basic bible truths such as  ’God is love’, and ‘Christ died for us’ we speak with authority.

When we get up and preach inaccuracies and obvious conjecture this reduces the authority in which we speak the Bible’sbasic truths.

Paul made numbers of blatant and obvious mistakes in attempt to relate the book of Revelation to the 21st century modern geo political situation. For example, China’s army is 1.8 million,  not 200 million like stated (I did encounter a couple sources claiming otherwise, but they were all trying to justify this viewpoint.  Anything neutral or not theological was referring to the smaller figure ).

Relating the 10 headed beast to EU, may have been believable in 1980 when the EU had 10 countries, but becomes ridiculous in 2010 when the EU has over 20.  It becomes laughable when you claim  it relates to countries with full voting rights.

The declaration that Jesus will return exactly 7 years after the rebuilding of the temple would also be rejected by most Biblical scholars in contradiction to the direct teaching of Christ, when he said ‘no man knows the day or hour’

If we make these basic errors from the pulpit, on even off side or irrelevant points,we reduce the authority of preaching in our church.

It focuses a believer on the Kingdom of God in the future millennium, and not in the  a present reality.

Of the two major themes of Jesus ministry was the Kingdom of God (the other was the cross). He spoke about  both the future tense and the present tense, many of his miracles and training of the disciples was about the present tense of the Kingdom of God.

Many of the Pharisees (and at times the disciples) didn’t get what Jesus was saying and doing because they could only see the Kingdom as a physical  entity involving Jerusalem and the Jewish state, rather than a current reality based on the presence of the King of Kings.

A viewpoint that believes that God will institute a future earthly and temporal kingdom (doesn’t his Kingdom have no end?) starts peoples minds focusing towards the fulfilment of Gods Kingdom being focused more in the future age than the now,we start to defer the blessings of God to a future age.

It creates an unbalanced view of Israel’s roll in the future

The stance that Paul preached is a stance that can lead to an over emphasis on the role of Israel in the future. On the whole, there are only one or two chapters in the letters which speak in any depth of Israel’s future role and purpose in Gods Plan. Talk to some people who take the stance and you would believe it was the central thrust of the New Testament.

On top of this, Pauls view looks to restablishment of the temple, which is a complete anathema to my theology. The temple was at the heart of the old covenant which

• could not save us.
• was there to convict us not to redeem us.
• kept us out of the presence of God.
• could point us forward to our new deal with God.

The book of Hebrews tell us that now as Christians, we have a better temple, a better covenant and a better high priest. At the point of the crucifixion God choose to destroy the temple by ripping the curtain  from top to bottom. Why do we believe that in any way he wishes to reinstitute it?

It creates an  overly complex view of the end times.

The pre-millennial view creates a viewpoint which has 2 judgements, numerous tribulations, a 2nd coming in two parts, an many other complex and somewhat cumbersome events to fit into your end times calendar.  All which can be very difficult to reconcile with each other, and quite often when people do so they end up compromising other more central doctrines.

Dangerous methods of interpreting the bible are justified by this theology.

Dispensationalism which effectively disregards the teaching of Jesus as being relevant to Christians today (as it belongs to the Jews in the millennium,we only need to bother with the teaching of Christ.) is justified by the premillenial position which was put  forward to the church.

Even though Paul Williams does not hold this view, the end times position he supports is the basis for it. Darby, the person responsible for this view point is also known as the father of dispensationalism.

There are a  few other downsides to this theology but for the moment ill sign off as the post has become very lengthy.

Next time the final point part 4. what do I believe about the end times?

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I had tentatively agreed to spend two mornings a week at the Human Dignity Centre and I was unsure how it was going to practically work itself out.  We were a minority. The other volunteers spoke English but preferred obviously to chat and socialize in their own language so after the children’s lunch, while we watched the children play in the playground, I timidly sat among them and kept an eye on Iona while the Xhosa language washed over me. I felt incredibly self conscious, and to be honest, a bit unsure of what I was doing there. I was quietly resenting the fact that I was possibly only there because working in a preschool for impoverished post apartheid black children is what was expected of me as it’s what missions traditionally “looks like”.

One of the volunteers I worked with in the classroom was called Noluthando. She was short, wiry thin, and came across feisty and self assured. One morning I stumbled in to find the main teacher was off sick. Noluthandu put a ruler in my hand and simply told me “you can teach the class” with a bit of a cheeky smile on her face. When I protested she did the “you have to teach them because you are white” line which I simply found bewildering. While Iona ran around taking things apart, Noluthando giggled from the corner of the classroom as I trudged through the Xhosa names on the register, barely able to pronounce as single one. It was a long morning.

She did seem to make a point of thanking me for helping her after we were finished and I could see that  maybe she wasn’t just out to make the white volunteer look foolish. Unsure of what to say, I asked her how long she’d been volunteering there at the centre.

Then, this girl I hardly knew, told me what she did and I was stunned. Tears welled up in my eyes and the room seemed to spin. She casually wandered off to do whatever it was she was doing, and as I turned towards the kitchen to collect a tray of sandwiches to pass out, I forgot about how self conscious I had been feeling. I was completely stunned out of my less than enthusiastic attitude and at that moment, I knew I why I was there. I needed to be her friend. I wanted to be her friend. It was not enough to know what had happened to her. I needed to know her.

Noluthando was born at home. Being a fan of home births, I warmed to this fact about her. Her mother gave birth to her in a traditional style round hut out in the countryside of the Eastern Cape, near the coast. She was born in 1982, ten years before apartheid would end. One of eleven children, her family laboured on one of the many pine and chicory farms in the area. When she was seven years old, they moved to the township in Bathurst, near the affluent costal town of Port Alfred where her mother took up domestic work.

She lived a very sheltered life in the country and hoped to be a teacher one day. She spent a few years living with her older sister outside Port Elizabeth who was working and could afford to send her to school when her parents were short of money but later moved back to Bathurst for high school, still hoping to be a teacher someday. Everything changed shortly before she was due to complete her final year of high school. Her father’s health started to fail and she was landed with the responsibility of caring for him. She started to miss school regularly. Her teachers understood and although she was hardly there, she passed year 11. Then just a few months before her final year of high school, her father died. With her mother out of work, and her father having been the main provider, that was it. There was no money. Her mother could not even afford to keep her and her siblings living with her, let alone pay for them to complete their education.

There was no other option but to try and make a way for herself on her own. So she found herself three hours away in Walmer Township, Port Elizabeth. It was a classic case of country girl meets the big city. She was incredibly naïve and totally overwhelmed.  Walmer township is an area of one square mile with a population of 60,000 people. There is a huge unemployment problem not to mention the 40% HIV statistic.

Desperate for friendship she got in with a group of older women who encouraged her to drink and party with them. With her natural sense of humour and animated personality, she quickly became popular. This lead her to getting involved with an older married man. Her friends encouraged her saying how he would be able to buy her things and spoil her. I think she even referred to him once as her “sugar daddy” Within the space of a few years, her life had changed. She had been living in the country with her mother, nearly finished with high school, with great hopes of perusing a career in teaching, and now she was in the centre of township life, falling  into patterns of self destruction. As her self worth slowly eroded away, she began to believe the lie that she had to sacrifice her self respect, and use manipulation to survive. Her worth was not measured by who she was, but how much stuff she could accumulate and what she could get her boyfriend to buy her. Having had a faith as a child, it was far from her mind now. She was now just one of the many faces one sees behind the tills and counters of the South Africa service industry. Partying at the weekends and holidays and living in the moment with no real purpose or direction.

Then get got pregnant. It wasn’t really a surprise, but it happened. As her boyfriend was already married, it was complicated. Suddenly the fun was over. Women who previously encouraged her promiscuous lifestyle now pointed the finger at her. Slowly the shame started to creep in.

Once when we were talking about pregnancy and childbirth, she told me how she used to sulk at her boyfriend in order to get what she wanted. He would visit her and attempt to look after her bringing her some groceries from time to time but if she was craving chocolate cake or KFC, she would refuse to speak to him until he brought it! I smile as I can totally imagine her doing this. Perhaps her pregnancy was starting to help her regain some of the self respect she had lost in the pervious years. She knew she could achieve a better life than the she now found herself living. However it was complicated.

Her daughter, Annatie, was born on the 13^th of June 2005. She went home to Bathhurst to her mother the last few months of her pregnancy and gave birth in the local hospital there.  During her pregnancy jealous women used to torment her telling her she was most likely HIV positive and going to die. If women are HIV positive, they usually find out when they are pregnant and the tell tale sign of an HIV mother is that she is bottle feeding. Breastfeeding did not come easy to her but she was determined to succeed at it, and proudly breastfed her daughter in front of everyone as proof that she was not HIV!

Her bond with her daughter was strong. Although she had to work full time she managed to continue feeding her well into toddlerhood. They lived together in a small little shack and slept in the same bed. Often Annatie would be wide awake after Noluthando came back from work, exhausted. She would lay on the bed and slowly fall asleep while Annatie played with her hair and talked to her. Her boyfriend was in and out of her life randomly as was expected. He seemed to want to do right by the situation and extended Noluthando’s shack a bit further out to include a future room for Annatie, (even though most African children co-sleep well into adulthood!). Noluthando was working hard in the kitchen of a local pizza place, often doing double shifts. She was determined to have enough money to raise her daughter right and be able to provide for her.

One afternoon, when Annatie was about two and a half years old, Noluthando went to take her to relatives to be looked after for the evening. Annatie was whining a bit and protesting that she did not want to go there. However Nolutando had no choice as she needed to be at work.

It was 11:00 that night when Noluthando got a phone call. “Your daughter is missing, we can’t find her” In a blur she managed to get back home only to find her daughter had been missing since 5:00 that evening and they had only just rang her when they did. She was in shock. Apparently, an old granny had taken her for a walk, and neither of them had returned. The police were brought in eventually and a search was made, even including a helicopter search over the surrounding bush, but there was absolutely no trace of Annatie or the old granny.

So that was it. Her daughter was missing.

This is what she told me that day, very matter of factly. “I had a daughter, but she is missing, and I have no idea what happened. I can’t even have a funeral for her because I don’t know if she is dead or not”

This had happened five months ago and now she was here volunteering at the Human Dignity Centre. She was unable to return to work after everything happened. Her family urged her to come back to Bathurst so they could take care of her but she refused to leave the spot where her daughter had been swallowed up. She found out about the Human Dignity Centre and asked if she could volunteer as a way of keeping her mind off things and getting some support.

So this is how our paths crossed. I had no idea where to begin but I knew now that I had a purpose for being here. We started to chat more often and I was never sure really what to say. On the outside you would never know the kind of horror story she was living with. She laughed and joked around with the other volunteers and simply got on with her life.

Our friendship started to progress when Jon decided to invite her and her niece (who I was also starting to befriend) to an event at church. They came over early and had dinner with us. I could see from the start that they were very nervous to suddenly be “in our world” having dinner in our home at our table. It’s shocking that such a small thing was bridging such a massive gap in their minds. They spent the night that night and the better part of the next day with us. It was slightly awkward, but the ice had been broken. When Jon went away for a few weeks on a mission trip to Malawi, I invited them over several times to spend the night and watch movies with me, mainly keeping me company! We had a lot of fun and late at night Noluthando started to talk and open op and little by little I learned more about her.

I noticed sometimes she seemed to be overwhelmed by food. Like a large pie from the local takeaway or a plate of homemade cookies we were sharing. I noticed once she got a quarter of the way through a pie and then she looked like she was going to be sick. At first I thought it was because she was not used to having so much food to eat. However, as poor as the townships of South Africa are, and as nutritionally deficient many of the people are, most of them are not what you would call, starving. They don’t eat the best foods, but generally, there is usually something to eat.

Late one night after offering her a second homemade chocolate chip cookie, she refused, and explained that she only allowed herself to eat what Annatie would be able to eat. It was her way of not letting herself forget about her daughter and of trying to reach out and connect with her. She then told me how guilty she felt that she had been with a married man and almost feared that Annatie’s disappearance was some sort of punishment.

She seemed to vacillate between hope and despair. The use of fortune tellers and witch dr’s is very prevalent among the Xhosa culture and she was continually being dragged to see them by concerned family and friends. They would demand a fee and assure her that if she performed certain rituals, Annatie would magically return to her. She was starting to become disillusioned with this the truth was, she was desperate and would always end up trying whatever they advised.

During this time, she started to come to church with us. I started to introduce her to people and shared her story with some of them. For the most part I found people were shocked but like me, felt at a bit of loss as there was so little that could actually be done for her.

One evening I invited her to a women’s dinner at our church. It was a typical women’s event. The hall was decorated beautifully and there was lovely music and gorgeous food served. I sat quietly with her at a table full of women I didn’t know too well. The conversations washed over me and I heard bits and pieces of the well worn topics of children off to university, holiday destinations previous and future, and family pets. Inside I was cringing slightly. I almost felt bad for bringing her with me as I could only imagine how uncomfortable she must have felt. The speaker spoke an encouraging message and although I could apply bits of it my own life, I could not imagine what Noluthando was getting out of it. It was just worlds away from where she was at. At the end she encouraged the women to pray in pairs with each other. I typically do not feel comfortable with this in the best of situations so I was feeling completely at a loss. As other women paired up with each other and started to pray, I sat in silence next to Noluthando. Finally, I spoke. I asked her if she felt positive about the future. She had recently been on a short course relating to her work at the Human Dignity centre and was full of ideas and excitement about it. She said “yes, yes, I am” not looking at me in the eye. Then I started to well up. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I started to cry as I asked her “I just don’t know how you cope!! You must be sitting her and listening to all this and thinking that we just don’t have a clue!!!” ironically she reached out and put her hand on my shoulder as I continued to cry and say how I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost Iona and how I could not even begin to understand how she was feeling. Then I felt compelled to share a verse with her that I had felt for a long time was for her but never had the chance to share. It was that “Nothing will ever separate you from the Love of God” The whole time I’d known her, I’d never seen her cry, in fact, others had told me she hardly cried at all about the situation, but as soon as those words of scripture were out of my mouth, her own tears started to flow. Besides her own grief at losing her daughter, she was carrying around a tremendous amount of guilt and shame regarding the whole situation. She needed to know that it wasn’t her fault, that this wasn’t some sort of punishment and that she was loved no matter what. We sat together for the next while, saying nothing, just being together. As horrible as it was, I have never felt more honoured to share in someone’s pain. The moment passed and we didn’t speak of it specifically again.

It’s hard bridging the cultural gap in South Africa. It’s not that everyone is still vehemently racist. It’s just, awkward. The different races share little in common with each other and often it’s just a easier to keep relationships superficial and avoid having to speak to each other. Many maids share a positive report with the families they work with, and many labourers joke around with their bosses and many of the underprivileged benefit from flashes of generosity from time to time, but you still do not commonly see blacks and whites just out having coffee together, eating at each other’s tables, or hanging out. It’s not that it’s seen as wrong, it’s just…a little awkward.  I often invited Noluthando to our home for various socials we would have, and I hated how awkward it felt. I knew she was happy to be there but at the same time she was shy and nervous. It even felt that way bringing her to church. People were always friendly, but it was just….awkward. I worried about what would happen when we left. I wanted her to connect more with the people there, but I knew I couldn’t orchestrate or force anything. These things have to be organic really. However, the church had a well developed counselling ministry and it suddenly occurred to me one day that Noluthando could definitely use some sort of grief counselling. In our conversations we had only really scratched the surface of what she was feeling and I often felt very out of my depth.

When I presented the idea to her she was surprisingly very up for it. We put her in touch with a young qualified clinical psychologist from the church and they started to meet up together. I was so relieved and happy for her to be having another source of input and friendship. I purposefully kept my distance from these sessions as I wanted her to have space but at the last one, she wanted me there as they were designing a sort of memorial poster for Annatie as part of her journey of healing. She seemed to feel these sessions helped her tremendously. She had been developing a bond with Iona over our times together and it was interesting that she apparently found being with Iona therepeudic and healing as opposed to painful.

I remember on the anniversary of Annatie’s disappearance she was in the middle of her counselling sessions, and her counsellor thought it would be a good idea if I could just keep her with me that day. She came back to my house. We didn’t speak of it really. I thought it might be nice for her to spend some time at Annie’s playschool next door as it was a warm day and Annie’s back garden always feels therapeutic. We hung out there most of the morning and she chatted to Annie’s maid, and played with the children there. It was a lovely distraction. However, we didn’t speak of the issue.

Our time in South Africa was fast coming to a close. We continued to meet up and hang out as usual. She was starting to feel ready and eager to get back to full time work and we did what we could to help her find a job. It was discouraging in some ways as it was clear just how insecure and afraid she still was as a person. She really did not have the confidence or belief in herself that it takes to sell herself well to prospective employers. She let other people’s negativity fill her with fear at times and she let herself down on a few occasions and that was frustrating for me as there it would have been nice for me to leave her knowing she was all sorted out with a job somewhere.

However, I never set out to be her fairy godmother, or her saviour, swooping in to save the day or solve all her problems. I was just her friend. I was able to relate with her as a mother, and learn from her about the realities of post apartheid township life, more than I could have ever learned from a book. I was able to point her in the direction of a church and other people who could have a positive influence on her, and encourage her to keep pursuing her dreams.

Once she asked me why I helped her so much and I was a bit embarrassed. I told her that she was my friend and that I was helping her the way I’d hope to help any friend that I had. Throughout our time together I felt compelled to keep that point central because it is so easy to slip into the hierarchal stereotypical roles of maid vs. mistress, missionary vs. native, beneficiary vs. benefactor.  Once she babysat for us and I figured I’d be a good excuse to give her a little bit of cash. Seeing as she was managing to survive on the equivalent of £15 a month, I figured she’d be only happy to take payment for her services. After all I paid the white teenagers who babysat from time to time so I didn’t see it as a big deal. She utterly refused the money. She was so insistent it surprised me until she said “we’re friends, you do so much for me and I hardly get to do anything for you in return. In our culture we watch each other kids all the time and we don’t pay each other, so don’t think of paying me”

It would have been so easy for her to take the money from me, and I would never have thought anything of it, but at that moment, I realized it was important to her that I knew that I was her friend not just a generous white person she saw as a source of income.

We had an emotional goodbye at the airport. I am convinced I’ll see her again someday. She does not have access to the internet but I send her the occasional text just to let her know I haven’t forgotten her or her precious daughter.

I hate that our friendship was for such a short season. Her story is far from over and I wish I could be a part of it as it continues. She is still in my heart though and she will always be one of the most incredible mothers I have ever met.

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Area Q ,Walmer Township is a place I have very fond memories of , and a place that will always hold a place in my heart, probably till the day I die, which is strange, as it is not a pretty place, it is not a nice place, and it is place where I always was and always will be an alien and an outsider.

Walmer Township itself  lies nestled in between Walmer Suburb,  Walmer Heights, Port Elizabeth Airport, and the city tip and nature reserve. As you fly into Port Elizabeth it is one of the first things you see when your plane turns round as it taxis on the runway.

It is about 1 mile squared , is estimated to contain 70,000 people, compromises of new Government and charity built projects houses of a fair standard, poorer older built government houses, and jerry built shacks, (one of which God,  Fountain Vineyard, and myself  claim at least partial responsibility for).

The population,  like many places, is a mixed bunch. I could paint a picture of pure slums and immorality to rival Gin Row in London at the end of the 18th century. I could tell real stories of crime and violence that still scare me, but that would betray the  hard working people, trying to scratch a living in a tough environment that I believe make up the majority of the inhabitants of the township.

It would not give credit to the people in abject poverty and need , who live with ubuntu and a generosity of spirit for their neighbours . I can recall mothers looking after 8 or 9 children in their shack home, every day for their neighbours so their neighbours could work, without payment, or famailies below the breadline giving 1/2 of their food for the week away because the family across the road had none.

There are desperate issues in the township. HIV rates are estimated at 40% +, unemployment runs at 50%+. Many children are orphans or raised by distant relatives.  Crime can be sudden, violent, and final. Parts of the township still have no running water or sewage system. Education is under resourced and often of a low quality.

My personal memories are varied,

Some are stressful, like when I was left isolated and alone in township after running the feeding program as my lift home had gone joy riding with her friends and left me to be questioned by police wondering what a scruffy , foreign, white guy was doing hanging round the township on his own.

Some are  humbling, like when I had to turn up and apologise to a crowd of 120 hungry people that there would be no food that day.

Some are mind blowing, like when I saw a bunch of Xhosa guys walking with clubs and full golf gear back from the country club to their township shacks after a round of golf.

Some are amusing, like when I was praying for a drunken Xhosa woman, through interpretors, at the cell group we ran at Noluthandus house., thena realising everyone is laughing or mortified because the woman is coming onto me!! She did get healed by the way.

Some are joyful, like coming home after a successful feeding program, or doing a random Christmas toy drop unannounced and giving away a truck full of children’s toys.

And then there were the surreal days that were probably the most dangerous.

I suppose my warmest memories are of children shouting …jon! jon! jon!… and chasing me. Whenever my bright turquoise car drove into the township, and the bemused looks on the parent’s face, trying to realise what their children were doing and how they knew this white guy.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe for some of the guys in the township I wasn’t a stranger.

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