Why I’ll be “walking like an Egyptian” this Christmas

The announcement that my boyfriend and I would be going to Egypt this Christmas raised a few eyebrows. Although they didn’t say it, I knew some people were thinking that it wasn’t a very “Christian” thing to do, as if God’s presence is somehow restricted to the British Isles.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas at home. I love snuggling up by the fire with my family, watching cheesy films I’ve seen a million times before, eating more turkey than can possibly be good for me and exchanging endless gifts. I’ve always ADORED the smell of Christmas dinner, pine needles and mulled wine (although I lost my sense of smell in the summer so this is a thrill I can no longer enjoy…).

But there are several valid reasons for spending Christmas overseas this year.

1. It is Chris’ 30^th birthday and we wanted to do something special to celebrate
2. We normally go to see our respective families (mine in Bristol, his in Derry) at this time of year, but after five years together we actually wanted to spend Christmas together. It would not have gone down at all well with my mum if we’d jilted a Bristol Christmas for a Derry one!
3. We fancy an escape from work; even I can’t do work if my laptop is 2,000 miles away
4. Egypt is WARM!

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. Yes, I will miss going to my own church on Christmas Day. I have certainly not forgotten that Jesus is the reason we celebrate Christmas in the first place. But Jesus was born a lot closer to Egypt than he was to Bristol or Derry. And he is just as relevant there as he is here. Even though Egypt (shock horror!) is a Muslim country.

We’ll be having our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve this year, but that won’t make me less of a Christian than those sitting down to eat on the 25th. In fact, it might give me the opportunity to have some interesting conversations with people who don’t normally think about Jesus at Christmastime. I’ll certainly be taking his love with me everywhere I go.

Whatever you’re doing this Christmas, I hope you have a fantastic one.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year from everyone at Liberti xxx

The dream that became a nightmare

You may have noticed that my blogs have been quite focused on human trafficking recently. I'm not going to apologise for this. It is something I feel passionately about and desperately want to see eradicated. But rather than writing another fact-filled blog of protest, this week I decided to write a poem from the point of view of a trafficked woman.

Perhaps poetry isn't your thing, and I realise I can only imagining what it must be like to experience such horrific circumstances. But maybe it will help you do the same. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.

Traffik stoppers

He came and gave my father money;

promised a land of milk and honey

He guaranteed a better life;

I’d learn a trade, I’d be a wife.

This had always been my dream;

this cat had always chased the cream

I’d see the world, I’d fall in love;

this man was sent from God above!

                         











But far away from friendly faces

I serviced men of many races

This is how I earned my bread;

my life suspended by a thread.

I’d never felt such utter shame;

they cut my hair, they changed my name

Kept under the hand, not just the thumb;

my heart so uncomfortably numb.

Every night I turned that trick;

They made me sore, they made me sick.

I didn’t dream, I couldn’t sleep;

My hope was gone, I dared not weep.

I longed for sunshine on my skin

but day and night I was kept in

Mastered by a tiny key

I prayed that God would rescue me.

Some vowed they’d take me out of there

but once fulfilled they didn’t care

My jailor locked me up with fear;

his words a curse, his smile a leer.

                         

One day I managed to escape

but I was found and tamed with rape

To my throat he held a knife

until I begged him for my life.

If ever again I ran away

he said my family would pay

He covered my face in black and red;

no dignity left, no single shred.

Three times I found myself with child

after I had been defiled

But even they from me were taken;

my babies stolen, lost, forsaken.

Why did I ever leave my land

for a language I didn’t understand?

Why had I sold my soul for this;

the stolen sex, the stifling kiss?

                                   

And then the men in blue they came;

I opened my legs for more of the same

They locked me in a metal cage;

I knew they’d make me earn my wage.

                                                     

Instead they sat and questioned me;

they brought me endless cups of tea

Trapped behind another door;

with words I’d never heard before.

                           

But then a stranger brought me light;

she fought for me with all her might

She risked it all to rescue me;

to cut me loose, to set me free

She told me I was no one’s slave;

for me a man his life he gave

To give me hope, a destiny;

this man named Jesus paid my fee.

It sounded an unlikely tale;

I had no faith in any male

But she spoke from a melted heart

and offered me a brand new start.

She helped me overcome my fears;

she gently wiped away my tears

Free to laugh, to sing, to dance;

I gladly seized that second chance.

But I am not the only one

to live a life without the sun

To suffer ever new disgrace;

ensnared within a cruel embrace

It won’t take one, or two, or three

if we’re to set the captives free

If we’re to make the traffic stall

to block it off: for once, for ALL.

It won’t take luck; it won’t take magic; it’s up to US to stop the traffik.

If you want to know more about human trafficking, visit A21 Campaign's website. It offers plenty of information and ways to get involved.

Read more from Joy in the upcoming issue of Liberti magazine, and in its parent publication, Sorted. 

Why 600 arrests just aren’t enough

I was thrilled to hear that Chinese police busted two major child trafficking rings last week. According to the government, 608 suspects were arrested and 178 children were rescued.

Good news, I hear you say. And you’re right – every child rescued from the traffickers is something to be joyfully celebrated.

The government certainly did a great job of rounding up the traffickers. A great deal of evidence was gathered and on November 30, 5,000 police officers launched a joint offensive and rounded up those responsible across ten provinces.

But despite claiming this as the "the biggest victory yet for anti-trafficking" operations, it seems to me the government should focus on preventing trafficking as well as shutting down existing rings.

So what could the Chinese government be doing better?

• It could get rid of the country’s strict one-child policy, perhaps. Experts claim many families are desperate to have a son to carry on the family name. This means baby girls are often sold to traffickers, while baby boys are often bought from them.
• It could also tighten up adoption regulations as existing laws for childless couples in China have led to a thriving underground market for kidnapping, buying and selling children.
• It should come up with a better solution for children who have been victims of trafficking. The rescued children in these raids were reportedly placed in welfare agencies – it’s not clear what will happen to them now.

Ultimately, the Chinese – and every nationality around the world – need to realise that children are precious, regardless of gender.

Besides, if everyone has sons, it’s going to be difficult to keep family lines going unless the girls sold to traffickers are subsequently hired out to procreate with the male heirs. This could result in sexual exploitation, disease, emotional distress and even incest!

I understand that different cultures have different perceptions about right and wrong, but I struggle to accept that any parent believes selling a child to traffickers is the best outcome for that child.

What the Bible says

Jesus makes it clear that children are extremely important and valuable to God.

Mark 10: 13-16 says: “People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant.

“He said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth; anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’

“And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.”

He took them in his arms!

These trafficked children could turn out to be the next Confucius, Ang Lee or… Jackie Chan. Regardless of their destiny, each was created by God to live a life of freedom and fulfilment.

I’m not picking on the Chinese; trafficking happens all over the world, not least in the UK. It’s time to urge our governments to take this issue seriously and to give children across the globe the start in life they deserve.

We may not be traffickers ourselves, but if we turn a blind eye to it we are partly culpable for the mistreatment of children in our own countries and beyond.

Read more from Joy in the upcoming issue of Liberti magazine. 

A big thanks to Bekah for her awesome Haiti blogs!

No Ceiling to Hope

1st December

I surprise myself sometimes. Today has been a really emotional day. We visited another amazing project this morning where 500 kids are in the child sponsorship programme have their lives transformed. We took the big blue elephant and had a wild time with the kids, 200 balloons and a camera crew trying to coordinate a message for Spring Harvest. It was beautiful bedlam. 

It was a total contrast to the kids we met in the afternoon by accident. Three boys who were hanging around on the streets where  we were trying to do some incidental filming. They were cocky at first, these teenage lads, and a bit hard but as they softened it became apparent that they live on these streets, that they don't have a home to go to, or a family to wonder why they are out in the dark. They don't go to school, they often miss meals and they look to each other for support. It was a tragedy right in front of us. Three tragedies and all we could do was give them a few coins and a can of coke. 

But that's not what made the tears fall. What makes me cry every time is the success stories. And there have been so many. Melodia yesterday who was a sponsor child and who now runs a sponsorship programme in her church, the leader this morning had also been sponsored and this evening we met with five young adults who are part of the Compassion Leadership Development Programme. These men and women have been sponsored since child hood and have been selected to enter this final programme because they show great potential and each of them has been enabled to go to university and mentored through it as well as being given additional leadership training. 

These people were amazing and I listened to their stories with tears rolling down my cheeks. It moves me so much to see that they have been literally taken from a place of no hope and put in a place where they can be a hope for their nation. It is an incredible thing. It is beyond words. One of the graduates of this programme now sits in parliament. How amazing is that! A boy who was so poor his own family could not support him, was given hope and a future, he was given an education,  he was taught about God, he was encouraged and discipled and now he influences government for good. Somewhere in the world, someone paying a few pounds a month enabled that. Wow. 

Child sponsorship is about giving people the opportunity to reach their potential, saying you were born for more than this, it's about letting anybody dare to dream big, really big. It's about saying there really is no ceiling to hope because we can change the world one child at a time. 

Church Actually

30th November 

So, today we found the decent roads, or stretches of them at least. I believe we got all the way up to 5th gear ! It's because we left the city and followed the coast line round to the Northern peninsular. Haiti really is a beautiful country, beneath the dust, the smell and the rubbish, but of course these are the reality- they do hide the beauty and somehow the hint of beauty add to the frustration of the situation that you see. 

We visited two more projects today. The first was to see a school that is being built by Compassion. It was something else. In a country where every building is scruffy if not tumble down, these are smart, proud buildings. And the difference doesn't stop with the appearance. The school we saw today was a class apart: the team overseeing the rebuild have gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that this school is built to international seismic standards. They have even had to train people in this country how to make proper bricks to build with and fight with the factory to persuade them to make them because the brick makers know they won't be able to sell them to anyone else- no one else would pay the price. 

We saw this school which will be finished by January, behind it is the school that fell down 2 years ago and in-between; the makeshift school made of ply-wood that is keeping the kids educated now- it doesn't look like it would stand up to  much of a storm so it's good Haiti has had two years free of hurricanes. 

Afterwards, we visited another child survival program and here we met Krisna and her mum. Krisna is 2 yrs old, the youngest of 5 sisters. her family home collapsed in the earthquake and since then they have been living in a shack they share with their uncle. Krisna has been registered with the compassion project since before she was born. 

Compassion seeks out the most needy in the community and Krisna's mum was sick. Krisna wouldn't have made it into the world alive without intervention, but through the work of Compassion, her mum got medical care and she gave birth in a hospital : for the first time. Krisna is registered in the Child Survival Program whose aim is to get kids started off right. It supports mothers in pregnancy and childbirth, gives parenting  education and medical support to the babies. It's an incredible system. Each mother and toddler comes to the centre twice a week and gets visited at home once a fortnight by a health worker- that's better support than I had and invaluable. 

I talked to Krisna's mum and she explained that she had been taught how to purify the water which had benefitted her whole family, and shown how to prepare balanced meals with the litle that she has. One a month she is given a food package of basics to help support her family. It makes the world of difference. 

On top of that, when Krisna developed pneumonia at the age of 9 months it was Compassion staff who got her admitted to hospital where she stayed for two weeks. Compassion has saved Krisna twice and it will transform her future many times again. 

The Child support programme is run by an amazing woman called Melodia who was a sponsored child herself. Her enthusiasm for what she does is amazing and love for the women she serves shines out of her. She proudly showed me round the centre that they have - i was astonished, it exceeded all my expectations. In this church in the back of beyond, were mural coved Walls, dozens of toys and musical instruments,teaching posters, books, cots and brightly coloured mobiles hanging from the ceiling. It was an incredible room - with as much to stimulate the kids as any I've seen. 

And all this in the heart of the church. The church really is the hope of Haiti. On the drive to this project we had passed a tent city on the mountainside that houses half a  million people and we had seen the landfill site where 100,000 people were buried in a mass grave following the earthquake. Figures like that are almost impossible to comprehend. But in the midst of that kind of devastation, it is the church that is leading the way. 

In every community we have visited it is the churches that rebuilt first - not as some grandiose symbol of religion, but because they are the hub of everything that goes on. Here are the centres for the community, the place to come for food, school and medical help as well as spiritual support. 

Haiti is a disaster zone, there is no getting away from it, but there is hope wherever you look and it comes in the shape of the church. I find it awe inspiring that in this impoverished nation, this church full of financially poor people has risen to meet the incredible need. They have nothing and yet they give everything. It's humbling and it speaks volumes about what church actually is and it poses an incredible challenge to churches everywhere to be the hope in their community, to give everything and be the agent of change. 

An Oasis of Hope

29th November 

An oasis of hope

Port au Prince is an extraordinary city to navigate. I don't think there can be a single decent road, much of it is on a steep mountainside and what passes for main roads are joined together by rubble-strewn, dirt tracks. Cars, trucks and taxis compete for the best path through the potholes and every journey takes literally hours longer than seems possible. Cheers go up when the driver is able to shift into second gear. 

Travelling today we saw more buildings devastated by the earthquake; a concrete spiral staircase lying prone as a lasting memory of the power of the earth on that day. Yet on the opposite side of the street stood a solid, well presented building which raises the question what makes the difference?  - Was it the power of the earth or the lack of political power to enforce building regulations that caused the disaster?'. Comparisons are made between this earthquake and that which hit Chilli more recently. Chilli had a far worse earthquake and lost about 200 lives. Haiti lost 230,000. 

Such a huge number of people. Everyone was touched by it. Talking to Ricot, the communications manager for Compassion in Haiti, we discovered that his brother died during the quake but that after a few days he had realised that there wasn't time for personal grief, this was bigger than a family bereavement and that everyone needed to step up and serve the devastated community. He said 'we just had to find those who were alive, pick up the children, tend to the sick'. It took him a year to account for all the sponsored children in Haiti but he did.

I have been deeply touched by these men who work for Compassion, they are not just employees, or officials who distribute the aid. They are fantastic men and women with a passion for serving the communities. They are deeply loved and respected by the children and staff in the partner projects and their energy and enthusiasm for what they do is contagious. 

We visited a project today which serves and protects over 500 kids. Amazing. We saw the child survival programme which targets the early years. World wide 26,000 children die a day preventable diseases. That's 26,000 preventable deaths. The Child Survival Programme looks to support mothers through pregnancy and birth and then to provide immunisations, health checks and parental education . 

On the wall is a list of 50 names with a photo beside, these children are individuals not just numbers, and their weights and vaccinations are recorded alongside. On the floor mums sit on a carpet with their babies and toddlers playing with the toys. It's such a normal picture - just a mums and toddlers group. And yet it's not so normal as we see when we visit the home of Gina - one of the Mums.

Gina lives just a stones throw away from the church in a tent like the ones I saw yesterday only this one is erected on a steep slope and looks like it wouldn't take much persuasion to slide down to the bottom. It's as hot inside as I had imagined and there is no space - my girls have a bigger Wendy house. I can't begin to imagine how you can live there, raise a baby and a child there. Gina says her child is often sick because of the heat. 

Gina is lovely, she has made the most of her sackcloth tent- hung lacy curtains to separate the bed from her room, created an awning to have somewhere to cook. She is being a mum, making a home with what she has, providing for her family, but the Child Survival Programme makes all the difference. I can only imagine the relief of going to the cool shade of the barn like church and sitting on a proper carpet and letting your children play with brightly coloured toys. It's an oasis of calm and peace in a desert of squalor. It's hope in a building. Hope in a family. Hope in a child. 

Hope even in the face of news that Gina and her family are to be evicted from their home of two years - the land owner wants to rebuild and they are in the way. Such devastating news in a situation which had seemed like it couldn't get any worse.

 Gina is like me. A mum who wants above all to take care of her kids. There have been times when I haven't been able to do it alone and I've needed some help from people who love me. Gina needs people who love her more than I ever have, but in her church, through the support of the programmes, she has that love and support. Its compassion in action. 

Trouble in Paradise

28th November

Trouble in paradise

Haiti is everything I expected and more. Flying in this morning I was sat about as far from the window as it was possible to do and I was straining my neck to get a glimpse. We flew in from the east over the stunning bay de la Gonave, and at first sight this is a tropical paradise. Crystal blue waters, gentle surf on White beaches edging the grand curve of Haiti's two peninsulas, all set against the backdrop of mountains which rise into the clouds. It's stunning. 

As you get closer the detail starts to stand out; a port, buildings, corrugated iron roofs, a town of tents. White swathes in the mountains where there have been rockfalls, more tents but not real tents, make shift ones made out of material that looks like giant modern sacking strung over wooden poles. Paradise is dirty. Noisy too and hot. 

The airport was like no other I have ever been through; from even before customs the noise is at full volume- musicians, officials and people wanting to carry your bags, I was exceedingly glad to be part of a group, to follow someone else's lead. It's intense - I'm used to being pestered for tips and being offered help I don't want but this is on a whole new level. One guy wants to find my bag off the carousel even though he can have no idea what it looks like. It's carnage; bags are piling up everywhere - mine appear to be with a pile of other people's things and I have to wade in to retrieve it and everywhere there are people trying to take my bags off me.  They're  not trying to steal them, just help me so I can pay them. One guy insists on pushing the trolley with Andy, the camera man, and we cant work out how to tell him we don't need him. He's determined to earn some money. 

In the chaos of all this it would be easy to lose someone and there's almost a temptation to bark at everyone to back off and leave us alone, but it doesn't seem right, these men are the lucky ones; the ones with the official name badges that grant them the right to hassle me for my bags, the right to a tip, the right to earn some money to take home to the family. So it's good to meet Edner and Ricot our Compassion staff and tour guides and get ourselves safely on a bus and let them take over the bartering. 

Driving to our hotel is amazing and part of me starts to really buzz with the sights and sounds that assail us from every side. The traffic is horrendous, the roads terrible and everywhere there are brightly coloured taxis overladen with people, honking their horns and trying to push their way through the mayhem.  Lots of the taxis have the words 'merci Jesus' written above their windscreen. I wonder if this is brand name or a permanent attitude of thanks that they are still in one piece. 

The streets are lined with people trying to sell sugar cane or papaya, clothes and car chargers for iPhones. It reminds me so much of the back streets of Mombassa, the chaos, the potholes, the glorious colours, the iffy smells. 

As we push our way along the road and navigate around piles of rubble, I peek into buildings and see dirt floors, look up side roads filled with rubbish and look at buildings in disrepair. There are more and more tent villages. Villages is a misleading word. Tent slums would be nearer the mark. From my air-conditioned bus I wonder how high the temperature rises in the middle of the day under canvas - it must become unbearable. 

But in the midst of this there are kids in smart school uniforms holding hands and walking with purpose. There are people generating business out of the things that they can provide. You could call them hawkers but you could also call them entrepreneurs. Abbey asks Ricot why the are so many people on the street - where are they going? He explains that they aren't going anywhere, just looking for an opportunity, food, a job, someone to meet. And even here I see hope. 

Because, although this is a life I cant imagine, although there is poverty in every direction, there is not despair. Instead there is hope, there is purpose. These people have not given up - they are still searching, they're not resigned to their fate, believing it can't change. In fact I saw a slogan written bold on a building which said 'every situation can change' . I loved that. That's hope on a wall for everyone to see.

Expectations . .

27th November

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here. I've not been abducted and I have a handbook to tell me what to do but my stomach is a little ball of nerves- a mix of apprehension, insecurity and just the unknown. It's a familiar feeling - I have a habit of throwing myself headlong into situations  with my ever present 'yes!' mentality only to spend the next few weeks or months second guessing myself.

As the plane takes off, i'm thinking about my kids, my husband. Wondering what they are doing without me, wondering if they miss me. This is the part of growing up that is annoying. When I was young, travel was adventure without looking back, now it's opportunity with sacrifice; that pervading fear that my plane will crash and the girls will have to finally learn to plait their own hair- the determination I have to get home to kiss them all good night again.  It's  not just me anymore- I have responsibilities, people to provide for, people to love. So I'm worried about what I have left behind.

And I'm wondering about what I am going to. What will I see? How will I react? what am I going to do? I'm sifting through the places Ive already been and mentally comparing it: I've seen poverty before in Kenya, but I've not got immersed in it. I've driven through slums but not talked to the people living there, not stopped in to visit. I was always a bit removed, a bit distant. I think this is going to be different - more up close and personal.

I've visited orphanages in Bulgaria that broke my heart: I wanted to pack the children up and take them home with me. I remember stifling sobs at the bedside of a girl so sick she couldn't get up and was in constant pain, stifling them because my tears felt selfish and she didn't need to see them, they couldn't help her. I remember the frustration of being in a place which was so broken and where hope seemed like a pipe dream.

I think this trip will be different. This trip is all about hope, its about no ceiling to hope, it's about projects where the brokenness is being addressed, the pain is being healed, the situation is not being accepted and there is a new day coming.  I'm excited about that and really quite honoured to be witnessing it, to feel part of it.

I think I may get sad, I suspect I will want to take children home with me and that I will see things and meet people who will stay with me long  after I have left, but I plan to hold on to that hope with no ceiling, that hope that says I will not accept that this situation can't be changed and I have the faith to believe that as a church we can see that achieved.

I'll let you know how I get on.

A bit inappropriate?

Liberti editor Rebekah Legg is travelling to Haiti on behalf of Spring Harvest this Sunday to visit various church projects sponsored by Compassion. Bekah be keeping us up to date with her trip here:

I got my travel pack in the post today; all the instructions I need for my trip to Haiti. I was so excited I could have squealed.

But then I wasn't sure if I should be excited. After all I’m travelling to a disaster zone, a place that had been decimated by dictators and weather systems, poverty and sickness long before the biggest earthquake in two centuries hit. Is it right to be excited, or does that make me wrong? A bit inappropriate? How are you meant to feel about flying into poverty, meeting people who are struggling to get through each day, kids whose major achievement to date is survival?

But I am excited: excited that I have the privilege of visiting projects that are changing lives; saving lives. Excited about seeing the church in motion, the church living up to its name, being light in the darkness and a force for good in a land that is broken.

I sat down with a mug of tea to read my pack; learned a few little bits of Creole; it’s a bit like French, I think I can pull it off. I learned how to make sure I don’t commit any social faux pas and I checked out what to wear. My excitement left me in a rush: I have nothing to wear. It feels ridiculous that I should say such a thing, but it’s actually true.

I had anticipated a bit of decency being necessary and was, I thought, ahead of the game. It’s going to be hot, but I know my little summer dresses would probably be considered scandalous so I’d borrowed some cropped trousers from my mum as my two pairs are either white (asking for trouble) or falling apart (you can see my underwear- definitely scandalous).  So I thought, Mum to the rescue, a few borrowed pairs of decent trousers would do trick.

But now, the travel guide says trousers are a no-no for women as are shorts, I have to wear long skirts and hide my cleavage. I may have to cut holes in my duvet cover and wear that as a shroud as a close inspection of my wardrobe reveals a large lack of long skirts and an abundance of now embarrassingly low cut tops. My entire wardrobe is inappropriate. I am have a clothing crisis the like of which I have not experienced since a last minute invitation to a posh function caught me a stone heavier than my one smart frock allowed. All in all I went into a spin and headed for the internet to see if I could find something decent to wear – in every sense of that word.

And then I stopped; because if anything seems inappropriate in this situation it’s spending money on clothes. I’m flying to a country where 54% of people live on less than a dollar a day. Having lived in Kenya I can picture the markets where they find their clothes. We used to call them bend over boutiques – huge piles of clothes discarded by the West but treasured in the developing world – a business for some and a provision for those who otherwise really would have nothing to wear.

It’s made me think about how I use the money God has granted me. It’s made me think about the call God has on my life and I’ve remembered that for me that’s not to be a fashion emissary to the developing world (or anywhere for that matter as my daughters would tell you).

I’ve decided this isn’t an excuse to expand my wardrobe with inappropriately expensive and unnecessary items; I’ve rung around my mates and borrowed some bits and dug out some old things I’d forgotten I had. I’ve some odd combinations, but I don’t think my hosts will care and the important thing is that they know how honoured and delighted I am to meet them. That's appropriate, that's exciting; I can’t wait.