The Gogo's Garden

Many times I have read the Psalms of praise as redundant phrases that foster God’s ego, they no longer become the cries of my own heart but at times empty words sent up to God. This was until a professor of mine taught me how to truly read the Psalms. She offered that one way in doing that was creating a picture in your mind of what the Psalmist is painting. Since my new understanding Psalm 148 has been a Psalm not only of praise to me but one of hope in a new creation both materially and spiritually in this world. The Psalmist paints a picture of creation as it was when God first ordered it into being. She goes through each command that God gave in the cosmos. I would like to think that her Picasso was not only one of memory, but mission. She sets forth a vision for what the world can look like again, a picture of garden is what I gather from the text. I have preached on this vision of “green” living and environmentally friendly living and new life and have even tried to take steps in my own life to see the garden come alive again, but it wasn’t until I met a Gogo in her garden that the Psalmist vision took hold of my heart.

A week ago I went to visit Gogo Teresa’s garden which the Phakamisa ministry helped her to start. I not only saw her garden but seven others which she had trained and helped other woman to start. The gardens were not just a hobby for the gardeners but they were actually their only hope for food in their forsaken part of this land. The Gogo’s lived in informal settlements and townships. Most of them cared for up to eleven grandchildren or other children that have been orphaned in the community. Many of the children that they love, feed, bath, and care for have AIDS and would die if not for the Gogo’s guardianship.

As we drove with “Mother Teresa”, the name many of her friends called her, we stopped at all the different gardens and met all the other Gogo’s who ran the gardens. Each one was so proud of her spinach, tomatoes, Zulu Cocumba, pumpkins, onions, peppers, and potatoes. Each vegetable had its proper place and they explained to me how they planted and nurtured each of the different plants. They told me how they were given simple seeds and how they grew to be food for them and their children. Which not only provided something to put on the dinner table at night but also helps give the nutrients they need for their ARTs (Anti Retriviral Treatment) to be effective in their bodies to fight against AIDS.

Teresa’s garden was the last one way saw that day and it was the biggest garden, not because of her work alone, but because she had invited others in the community to plant there as well. The garden became a community undertaking providing not only food but the soil for relationships to be planted, rooted, and grown. In many ways the garden provided new life. The simple Gogo played God and was literally the hands and feet of the creator as she planted new life in the soil that was given to her, while at the same time planting hope and happiness in the children and other Gogos that she continually helps.

In Gogo Teresa’s vision and in her mission I was able to see with my own eyes and even taste with my own taste buds the picture the Psalmist painted in Psalm 148. I did not know that day as I entered the informal area made of sticks, a few bricks, and lots of rubbish that I was in fact stepping into the Garden of Eden recreated by the heart of God and the hands of the Gogo Teresa.

We had CHURCH.

This past Sunday morning we celebrated the 13th anniversary of our little church. The people spent the weekend with each other, but Sunday was the big day. Last week, at the end of the service, we planned the food schedule for the weekend. Each of us committing to bring something to contribute to the meals so that the church would not be stressed financially by the weekend. I brought disposable plates on Saturday, and Sunday, I brought a chicken. Yes, an actual entire chicken (already dead), but head, feet, intestines and all. It was a first for me. I walked to church with chicken in tow, giggling with Meredith along the way about the fact that I was currently carrying a chicken carcass.

When we arrived, Cesar was teaching Sunday school and there were lots of visitors listening to what he had to say. We knocked on the door of the kitchen and our friend let us in. I was so surprised when I walked into the kitchen because there behind the table of chopped up vegetables and the other 5 or 6 whole chickens was a MAN in an apron and a chef’s hat. Another man was helping him, along with two young women. I have been going to this church for about two months now, and before Sunday, never saw a man in the kitchen.

He invited us in, told us to sit, and gave us bread and tea. Then they told us stories of snakes in the jungle and other adventures. It was a great way to start the day.

The culto (worship service) began while we were chatting, so we snuck out of the kitchen and found a seat in the crowded little storefront church. The culto included children singing, young people presenting what they learned in Sunday school, the young adults leading the congregational singing, a sermon by the District Superintendent, more singing, lots of praying and a benediction by a woman (which is a big deal).

I spent the majority of the service with tears in my eyes, wishing that I had more time here, and knowing that God was really there with us. After the service we had a HUGE meal (the typical Peruvian sized lunch), and some good fellowship. We had CHURCH.

As I was leaving I thanked the chef for his work, kissed so many cheeks, and went to say goodbye to Cesar. I asked him as I was walking out who this man was who was cooking for us today. He said, “Oh, Estefani, He is new. He came up to me a few days ago and said, ‘I know how to cook… why don’t you let me help?’” I stood dumbfounded for a minute, Cesar laughed at me and said, “I was surprised, too, but what a gift. God is good.”

Back on the Streets

Well, I am back on the streets. For a few weeks I have been out of my regular routine due to confirmation camp, flu, and a visit to the Drakensburg Mountains. So I have been getting places mainly by car. I also have had to stop my running routine because of the flu but today I was able to walk to church and then back to the lodge where I stay. Then I went on a forty minute jog with my pastor upto Howie's Hill to get a great view of Pinetown, the city which I am staying in. Then I walked back to the church and here I am. When I walk I am usually the only white person on the roads walking and I get the privilege to see so much of the kind of "real life" of everyday life for a person here. I get to see mothers spanking their children for being naughty, or men running to get to work on time, children walking home from school, etc. I noticed today how much I missed walking on the streets. It made me realize how easy it is to create or own little bubble of a life. When we have transport for the most part we can see what we want to see when we want to see it and if there is something that we might not want to see, well, we can speed right past it. So, the past few weeks, it feels as if I really have been living in the white christian woman's bubble. Whether the surroundings I have found myself in have been in places of poverty or privilege, I have chosen to go there and have been able to prepare myself for those experiences. It has been a true blessing to be out of a bubble and on the streets. I wonder if any others of you in international places have experienced this kind of bubble as well?