Compassion

Last week we went on safari with another family here at RVA.  They have kids the same ages and gender as Faith and Joel.  We booked the trip at a travel fair back in early November.  The plan was to stay at a tented camp in the Maasai Mara Game Reserve.  Given the events of my (Jim's) very first Safari, we were all a little bit apprehensive, but God really knew what we needed.  The camp was beautiful.  Even though the Mara is not fenced, we were several kilometers from the nearest entrance and village and the camp had its own security and intimidating electric fence.  We felt safe.  Not only that, but the 'tents' were really nice.  A full bathroom, wood floors, king-sized bed for us, a bed for Faith and a crib for Joel (Which he loved).  The buffet was full of good food from many different regions of the world.  We felt pampered.  There was time to read books, play with the kids and watch animals.  It's been a while since we really relaxed like that.

I also had a lot of time to think, especially on the ride to and from the Mara where the road is so rough our driver chose to drive off-road because it really was smoother.  Still, I think he tried to get as close to the 80 kilometer per hour speed limit as possible, which rendered any conversation impossible.

At the end of our time there, as we were checking out at the Reserve gate, the van was swarmed by the Maasai women (the Maasai Mamas) trying to sell trinkets.  They are very persistent, and it can be quite intimidating for even an adult.  As we were puling away, the other girl Faith's age said, "Those ladies were being mean!"  To be fair, they kind of are, but it's the kind of meanness borne of desperation.

Faith then said something that I was really impressed by.  She said, "They're not being mean, they're just poor.  If nobody buys anything, they might not be able to eat."  Perceptive, for a five year old.  And it made me think.

The Maasai were traditionally nomadic cattle herders, warriors and raiders.  Their houses were made of mud and sticks, surrounded by a fence of cut thornbrush where the livestock were kept at night.  When grazing resources were exhausted, they'd move on and build a new house and fence.  Today, as you drive through Maasai land, you see some of these compounds (called bomas) built in the traditional way, but most have added a tin roof.  Some homes are made of concrete, some fences are now barbed wire with permanent posts.  In all the bomas, there are signs the Maasai are no longer moving. Pasture is overgrazed; the cattle are thin.  The Maasai, as a people, have been passed by.  Poverty is everywhere.

Some, like the mamas, have turned to peddling trinkets.  Others do traditional dances and songs to entertain tourists.  Most are now herding goats and fat-tailed sheep which can survive on poor-quality browse much better than cattle, but even they look malnourished.

The sights on our drive are raw, heartbreaking.  'Poor' is on display.  Some men stand along the road throwing dirt into potholes, hoping a grateful traveler will toss them a few shillings.  Women and children carry muddy water from dammed-up culverts.  A roadkill zebra with the legs hacked off - free dinner.  Miles and miles of trees cut and burned to sell as charcoal - most of the trees have already been cut; what happens when they're gone?  It's hard to know how to help.

We drove basically from here in Kijabe to the Tanzanian border and the whole way the picture was the same.  It's almost revolting; I want, most of the time, to push them away.  There's no way to help all of them.

Eventually, my thoughts returned to the thieves from the week before.  I don't know much at all about them.  They were obviously desperate.  The blue flip-flop one of them lost in the kitchen was pretty old and worn.

"They're not being mean, they're just poor..."

The way Faith said it didn't sound like simple justification, more like compassion.  I pray for the same thing - compassion.