African Enterprise USA

Is this for you? Are you university age or beyond with an outstanding Christian character looking for a short or medium-term mission experience and ready to:

If you would like to talk to an intern in the field contact Dana Mahan, at danamahan@gmail.com

Testimonies

Bwana asifiwe! Sawubona in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ! I trust that your summer has passed well. It is good to be home after an amazing summer in Africa.

Before I left for Africa, I had only a vague idea of how my time might pass there. I think this lack of certainty forced me to completely trust in the Lord, and as usual God blew me away with his faithfulness. My experiences in South Africa and Kenya were totally different, but both challenged my faith and opened my eyes to a more global vision of God’s kingdom. Although I no longer feel that there is a huge future for me in Africa in missions, I will never be the same.

As an intern in the AE South Africa office, my role was mostly administrative. Each day began with staff devotions which were very fun and encouraging. During my time in the office I was able to help organize the School of Evangelistic Ministries Conference held at the beautiful AE Centre on June 20-22. Some other highlights from my time in the office included accompanying the SA admin team to a Marriage Alliance meeting in Durban where Michael Cassidy spoke, days with the LCR team (AE’s city ministry to the businesses of Maritzburg), and attending a Youth Day rally with the Foxfires.

If I was not in the office I was out with the Foxfires visiting schools and youth groups. The Foxfires are trained in song and dance, drama, public speaking, and Life Skills (topics ranging from peer pressure to HIV/AIDS) and they never rest, visiting various schools, youth groups, and rallies all by invitation. (One unique aspect of AE’s ministry is that it never goes into a city or place uninvited and unsupported by the local church.) The work that they are doing across Africa is invaluable and reaping a great harvest for His Kingdom.

Leaving SA for Nairobi was a bittersweet moment: I was leaving my SA family that I had grown to love but I was going to experience the team aspect of my trip that I had been so looking forward to. Our ministry consisted of street evangelism and preaching as well as building toilets in the slums of Korugocho, visiting HIV/AIDS home-based care patients, and speaking in schools about relevant topics (time management, HIV/AIDS, sexuality, etc). A normal visit to a school would consist of a skit, a speech on a relevant topic, and the Gospel presentation. My most memorable moment was speaking in front of a crowd of hundreds of high school students about time management—it was only 10 minutes but I definitely felt your prayers at that time!

The South African team was one of the most cohesive groups at the mission, the largest as well, with 29 team members including the SA Foxfires. We tried to meet every night after supper for team devotions, where we prayed and shared together. It was a great time of encouragement and helped our team to become like a family, especially since we were all split up into different teams with the 100 other internationals from Australia, Europe, and all over the African continent.

The Lord really pushed me out of a lot of my comfort zones in Kenya. It was very challenging for me to witness firsthand the reality of poverty, especially in the slums. The Lord stirred my heart with the life stories and testimonies of each individual I met during the mission. There is a pervasive sense of hopelessness amongst the Kenyans which proved to be a large stronghold to overcome when reaching out in the streets. I was able to share one of my favorite verses, Romans 5:5, to encourage my translator, Naomi—the faith of those who do know Jesus Christ and hope that is offered through him is inspiring, as each and every day they cling to the promises of God.

My time in Africa was far too short, was nothing like I had expected, but more amazing than anything I could have ever imagined. Thank you for helping me fulfill a lifelong dream. I am so blessed and privileged to have shared it with you.

Kiswahili, “Praise God”

Zulu, “Greetings”

Zulu, Thank you

I am a member of Bel Air Presbyterian Church and with a group of other 11 other young folk from there, went to Nairobi to take part in the Youth Mission which African Enterprise had put together over many months of preparation and training.

150 International young people under the leadership of John Beckett from Australia and 200 local youth coordinated by the Kenya Team Leader, Stephen Mbogo were there to cover the whole of Nairobi with the Good News of Jesus Christ. We were put into small groups under one leader and much to my surprise and "shock" I was asked to lead one of the groups. This was completely unexpected and I was forced into a situation that I had never been in before - I even ended up preaching in schools! My group consisted of two South Africans, another American and an Australian. I was very excited and happy, when young students accepted Jesus after I had spoken to them. I had no idea that this would happen when I left the USA for Nairobi, but the Lord was ahead of me.

The amazing spirit of the children and youth in Nairobi was very special, especially as they were very poor and had very little. I actually had never seen such poverty before, but I saw a joy in these young people that I hadn't experienced as a child growing up with "everything"! The people of Nairobi are loving and patient, I discovered as I had the opportunity of going all over this city. Some of the very poor areas and slums were 'heart-breaking'. We helped to clean up some of the trash in these areas - at least the guys did, while we girls entertained the children who clung to us and were fascinated by our 'white skin'.

My 'zone' was in schools, where the Gospel can be shared. We did this through drama, singing, preaching, etc. We also spoke on AIDS prevention by refraining from sex until after marriage. I also had the opportunity of working with medical teams in clinics which had been set up for the mission.

There were 'tough' times and down days - I was traumatised because of all I'd seen and done. Because I loved the people and they loved me in return, I didn't mind being exhausted. I still keep in touch with some of them as well as some of the Mission teams. I'm actually craving to go back to Africa and hope to do so next year with Mark, who I will be marrying on the1st September this year.

One of the unique challenges missionaries face when they go to live and work abroad, or so I have discovered, is the long and often problematic relationships they develop with the immigration authorities in their respective countries of service. Both parties being legally compelled to deal with one another, they seem to approach this interaction with a small measure of trepidation, and a double helping of annoyance. Now, when the immigration-service seekers are, like the Mahans, a mixed bag of dislocated and transient people, one would only expect their relationship with immigration-service providers to take on even more strain and stress than usual.

Ten months ago, I entered South Africa, as an American citizen, on a temporary residence permit, which allowed for a stay of three months, during which time I had to apply for a two-year spouse visa. Before this period elapses I need to begin pursuing permanent residency, but not until the spring of 2008, since Sibongile and I have to first be married for five years to prove our union is legitimate. Owethu, also an American citizen but with a South African parent, qualifies for citizenship in South Africa, but because he was born in the States and already has an American birth certificate, he must first apply for a South African birth certificate, after which time he can get an identification number, like a social security number, and a South African passport. Tumelo, on the other hand, who was born in South Africa and already has a South African birth certificate, needs an American birth certificate and passport, items obtainable only after we register him with the Department of Homeland Security. Finally Sibongile, a South African citizen with all documents pertaining there to, that lived in the States as a permanent resident with a work permit, commonly known as a green card, now has to officially forfeit her US residency, since we are no longer living in the US, and apply for a temporary visitor’s visa so we can come home on furlough.

And this is just the paper work, the side of the coin on which rests the minefields we must navigate if we want to avoid being deported from one country or barred from entering another. On the other side of the coin are the great distances which separate the South African Department of Home Affairs and the United States Consulate, the rather long lines of people you find at either during the decidedly short amount of time these offices are open each week, the disgruntled personnel manning the counters, the slow moving wheels which turn the bureaucratic machinery responsible for producing the documentation you need, the fees associated with these documents when they are at length made ready, and finally, the typographical errors in the paperwork that require running the whole gauntlet again and again. Most of the time, I would say, most people think most often about the traditional challenges missionaries face, like learning a new language, adjusting to a new culture, changing the way we go about the business of living through a day when little is as it used to be. But the untraditional challenges, they are legion, and how I wish I could cast them into a herd of swine and send them over the edge of a cliff.

But speaking of mixed bags and dislocated people, our family recently bolstered its ranks when we employed, after much prayer and consideration, not to mention a lot of foot-dragging on my part, the services of our very first nanny. Her name is Refilwe, a thirty-something mother of four from the same country town where Sibongile spent her childhood. Several months ago, she and her husband left the safety and security of rural life so they could find decent jobs in the big city for themselves and good schools for their children, though they brought with them few marketable skills and scarcely any resources with which to get their urban days going. Like far too many internal refugees before them, Refilwe and her family has come to call home a shack in an informal settlement near Pretoria, informal settlement being the politically correct term for squatter camp. It was at a church in the same area that she met a friend of mine named Moses who, when I explained we were looking for someone with experience taking care of exceptionally clever and uncommonly handsome little boys, helped set up an interview. After meeting and talking with Refilwe, with a night to sleep on it thrown in for good measure, my wife and I decided to invite her into our home, our lives, our family. If I had known back when Tumelo was born what sense Sibongile was making when she suggested we engage ourselves in some job creation activity, known how precious the time we now have to do important things like study and silly things like go out on dates, I would not have put off finding Refilwe for so long.

A shack in the squatter camp where this gentle and hard-working woman lives, and all those other townships which tend to spring up around major cities in South Africa, rough and chaotic neighborhoods where I spend much of my time, are as economically, aesthetically and racially unlike the Hilton Hotel in Sandton, a suburb of Johannesburg, as they could possible be. Johannesburg, you see, is like our New York City, Sandton the South African version of Manhattan and the Hilton Hotel, well, I suppose is like any other Hilton, but you get the idea.

It was at this regal venue in this upmarket neighborhood that African Enterprise hosted a fellowship breakfast in late March. As part of the ministry's partnership development team, I had the chance to help prepare for and facilitate the event, which was aimed at surfacing some new, major donors. When it comes to fundraising, experience has shown that eighty-percent of a non-profit organization's income, whether that organization is faith-based or not, is typically generated by around twenty-percent of its contributors. These folks are known as major donors, and to access them, to get the people with a lot of money to give a lot of money, you have to walk their walk and talk their talk, or so the theory goes. Hence, African Enterprise booked the fanciest ballroom at the ritziest hotel in the wealthiest city, then filled the place with as many young, and not-so-young urban professionals as it could. When the big day finally came, with the venue and the program and the guest list all in order, I arrived an hour early to set up the registration table, in one of the two jacket-and-tie outfits I own. By seven o'clock, I had all the name tags and brochures, commitment cards and ministry publications smartly arranged and in ready position, freeing me to stand around and shake hands, to greet people as they began to trickle past and take their seats.

It would be a morning to remember, in more ways than one. From the bow tied bellhop to the marble floors, from the brass finishings on the lift to the crystal stemware on the table, what a palace of sophisticated taste and exquisite style! From the investment bankers to the corporate lawyers, from the renowned authors to the brilliant doctors, what a gathering of good breeding and cosmopolitan charm! When everyone was seated and the meal had commenced, I took a moment and popped down to the loo, straightening my tie and checking the shine on my shoes as I went. A most capitol way to spend a morning, thought I to myself. How excellently everything has come together, and how well I fit in. Past the concierge and across the finely carpeted lobby, I head for the entrance to a narrow hall, beside which has been placed a sign indicating the bathrooms can be found down that way. Yes indeed, it is as though these are my people and this is my place. This is what I have been trained for, the work I have been set aside to do. Breezing past the sign, I walk through the first door on the left, carried on by my own sense of self-worth, nodding my greetings to the woman standing in front of the mirror checking her make-up. This is who I am! This is where I belong! And then, right then, with the intoxication of wealth at its most fevered pitch in my heart and in my head, realizing there are only stalls along the wall and no urinals, catching the confused look of the woman behind me as she takes her handbag and leaves, it hits me. I've wandered into the ladies room. Who I am? Where I belong?

As a flag waving member of the Grand Old Party and a dedicated Red State voter, I admit to being of the opinion that individual responsibility within any one social context is of greater merit than society taking on the responsibility for any one individual and his or her idiosyncratic behaviour. Consequently, I place a much higher value on a dollar earned, and its capacity for meeting the needs of the person that earned it, as compared with a dollar simply given away. When people have jobs, and execute their respective vocational responsibilities as unto the Lord, much dignity is produced, and many of the hardships we face as families and communities blow away like chaff in the wind. That being said, I thought I would mention a few opportunities created by the division of labour in South Africa which people made of tougher stuff than myself take advantage of day in and day out. These are my working heros.

The men at city intersections who do not have, like their hawking companions, enough capital to buy sellable stock like avacados or phone charges, but do have enough humility to grab a plastic bag so they can offer to dispose of any rubbish people have collected in their cars for a small tip.

The township pastor and friend of mine who, when not tending to the needs of his flock, works all day long during the week as a public official, and serves all night long with his wife as a house parent for six children at an orphans village home.

The waiters and waitresses at a favourite Italian cafe, who are mostly black, that keep showing up for their respective shifts in spite of how the managers, who are mostly white, talk down to them in front of customers like me.

The teachers and care providers at the pre-school Owethu and Tumelo attend, my wife among them, who try to make the most of a slowly deteriorating situation, brought on by the radical incompetence of a woman in the middle of her first, and hopefully last year as principal.

The poorly paid, honest police officers who work alongside all those dishonest cops that pull me over once every two weeks or so for no particular reason and charge me a spot fine, the kind of fine you pay on the spot, which goes directly into their pockets.

The founder of a residential hospice in Mamelodi who, after spending all day scouring the township for people suffering with AIDS, left to die on the streets by uninformed and frightened relatives, who regularly misses a night of sleep because one of her nurses does not show up for the late shift.

The youth leader from our church in Boston who brought four black and four white high school students to South Africa for a mission and reconciliation trip, only to send two of the students back home early after he discovered their radical lack of personal and spiritual maturity.

The masses of government school teachers, like my sister Zodwa, who recently participated in a month long strike that will receive the pay increase for which they marched, but who will, in the end, lose more money than they gain because of the no work no pay policy in our country.

The woman that takes care of Owethu and Tumelo in the afternoon, Refilwe, who has to catch three different buses on her way to work, and three on her way home, using up roughly one third of her monthly salary and four hours of her day just on the commute.

The Zimbabwean professional, with first class training and experience, that works at a Kentucky Fried Chicken around the corner from my house because his homeland is in economic freefall after one more African dictator, Robert Mugabe, decided to stay in office way too long.

The game rangers that have to scold some American college kids I brought for a day trip through the wildlife park after those same zealous youngsters decided my command to stay in the car at all times was really more of a suggestion.

I will admit that I am often overcome with a sense of wonder, laced with a sense of guilt when I encounter these men and women who faithfully labour, without murmering or complaining, under a yoke I could scarcely bear, while I get to have a job that I thoroughly enjoy, that fits well with my interests and sits well with my values as a follower of Christ. Is it because God loves and blesses me more than God blesses them? Probably not. Is it because I was lucky enough to be born in America and not in Africa? Maybe so. Is it because some social systems, which I have seen fit to theorhetically undermine in this very letter, contributed to the firm foundation on which my career rests? Likely yes. Whatever the reason, I find I respond differently to this over flowing cup of mine in different ways at different times, most recently with a creative attempt at increase my work load.

Since moving to Pretoria one year ago, Sibongile and I have been attending Willows Church, a small fellowship right across the street from the cluster of townhouse where we stay. In addition to being decidedly evangelical and more or less racial integrated, Willows has an excellent children's ministry and youth program. The leadership of the church places great emphasis on members of the congregation getting involved in life groups, groups of half-a-dozen people who do life together, and encourages these groups to reach out to the communities in which they live. What is more, there is a strong push within the congregation towards mission, toward taking the love and truth of God both across the street and around the world. For the past several years, the elders of Willows have been praying for someone to push forward this missions impulse by helping to structure its current reality and develope its future potential.

I ask each of you to pray for me as I consider integrating all I do for and on behalf of African Enterprise with the history, resources and vision of this congregation. It seems like a good fit. They need someone in a position which the church budget cannot afford to pay. I need the accountability and professional encouragment, but have a great team of supporters back home covering my family's expenses. Please pray for the elders of Willows church and me as the Lord of the Harvest, for whom the local church has always been the harvest tool of preference, reveals His will to us. And please pray for my enduring Republican attitude, that I would see this opportunity to ground our ministry in Africa just as we see grace abounding in lives of faith, lives not redeemed through the earning power of good works, but redeemed for them. and this not of yourself, but a gift from god

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Testimonies