PSA: They know it's Christmastime in Africa.
/As we enter the Christmas season and - as such - the Christmas music season, I have to get something off my chest:
THEY DO KNOW IT'S CHRISTMASTIME IN AFRICA.
I know this because we just left Uganda after 40 days. On November 21, the day we left, we made one last stop at Barclay's to exchange our US dollars for a few more Ugandan shillings so we could give extra tips to our guest house staff as we left. In the Quality Shopping center, the pillars were wrapped in sparkling Christmas-themed ribbons.
I know this because I had to ask my children to stop touching the glass windows in front of the twinkling Christmas tree as we waited to be cleared through Uganda's immigration system at the airport. One precious one had to hold my hand against her will because she wanted to run to a different store - one beyond the immigration approval area - because that store had a bigger and brighter Christmas display.
But, even more than the external representations of Christmas, I know this because I met friends in Africa whose faith makes mine look pitiful and small. I met friends who prayed over my son while he was sick and shared stories of their sons who died, all while holding steadfast to their trust in God. One couple sat with us and prayed a blessing over us that still has me in tears right now. Another opened his home to us, a home that was no more than 150 square feet and lacked a bathroom or kitchen but that had scripture adorning the walls and, more importantly, being lived out through love and hospitality.
They know it's Christmastime in Africa.
In the 80s, a lot of money was raised for famine relief in Africa with a song you've heard - and will hear a lot in the coming month - "Do They Know It's Christmas?" Here are the lyrics:
“It’s Christmastime; there’s no need to be afraid
At Christmastime, we let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime
But say a prayer to pray for the other ones
At Christmastime
It’s hard, but when you’re having fun
There’s a world outside your window
And it’s a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears
And the Christmas bells that ring there
Are the clanging chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you
And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmastime
The greatest gift they’ll get this year is life
Oh, where nothing ever grows, no rain or rivers flow
Do they know it’s Christmastime at all?
Here’s to you, raise a glass for ev’ryone
Here’s to them, underneath that burning sun
Do they know it’s Christmastime at all?
Feed the world
Feed the world
Feed the world
Let them know it’s Christmastime again
Feed the world
Let them know it’s Christmastime again”
Other than being condescending, it's not true. Every day in Uganda, we looked out the window to see an amazing view of Lake Victoria, the source of the Nile. No rivers flow? Um, sure. You know, except for the longest one in the world. Other than the Nile, there's also the Zambezi, the Congo/Chambeshi, the Niger, the Ubangi, and... well, you get the point.
Nothing ever grows? Even Robbie will dispute that one, and he's only four. He told someone on the plane from London, "In America, the pineapple is dry. In Uganda, the pineapples is wet and juicy and gooder." Add to that: the bananas, the mangoes, the jackfruit, the corn, the watermelon, the oranges, the sugarcane, and... well, you get the point.
No rain? Tell that to the clothes I re-wore several days because I waited too long to do wash and then - given it was the rainy season in Uganda - my clothes didn't fare well on the line. Tell that to the mud I can't get out of the My Little Pony charms on my daughter's shoes after our visit to the Ugandan Reptile Village the morning after a terrible storm. Tell that to the inconsistent power access we had, given that the power went out every time rain threatened.
Things grow. Rain pours. Rivers flow. It's just not as good for fundraising to say, "Oh, where amazing fruits grow that trump anything you'll have here, and where the rivers and lakes will humble you with their beauty, and where the rain is so prolific it has seasons named for it."
The bitter sting of tears? Well, yes. Africa can be a hard place. Almost everyone I met had lost a child to disease. Death and suffering are far more openly discussed in Uganda than here. But that doesn't mean "it's a world of dread and fear."
It's a beautiful and broken world, a lot like ours. Unlike our world, though, they know Christmas isn't about food. They know a God who is good even when the pantry is empty. Unlike many of us (read: unlike me), they worship God more and comfort less.
Finally, "Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you."
WHAT THE HECK?
Maybe it's just me, but I'm thinking it's better - and less smug and patronizing - to thank God for what we have and ask him to provide, perhaps through us, for those in need. The only story in the Bible when someone thanks God for not being like those other people wasn't a model we were meant to emulate.
I would apologize for ruining a Christmas song for you, but I'm not sorry.
I will, however, spare you from a ranty blog post about why I don't like the Christmas shoes song.
You're welcome.
some African rains rolling in, 2013, from the patio of our guest house in Uganda