In God's Hands

I sit here at the farm with 11 applications and essays for the 2008 Forward Education class. I have room for eight of them. This process has been a very difficult one for me. Even the idea of picking youth in Masoyi to apply for this program was very difficult. I have so much power when it comes to the future of these youth. If I had let one more young mom apply to the program, would she have made it? Would she have gone on to university? Would she have been able to provide a brighter future for her and her child? These things race through my mind.
Today I sat and read all of the applications and essays of the youth who have applied for next years program. I made it through about half of them before the overwhelming feeling of pressure and sadness hit me like a ton of bricks.
I was in the middle of reading one of the applications where it describes relatives of the applicant. Mother deceased; cause of death HIV/AIDS. Father deceased; cause of death HIV/AIDS. Both of them died with in a one month span of each other. The application fell out of my hand and I wept. I sat their talking to God. “Father I can’t do this. I need your help.”
How do I tell three of these youth that they will not be accepted into the program. How? All but one of the applicants has at least one parent who has passed away. The one who’s parent hasn’t passed has never met their father anyway.
Their essay’s were so powerful and so full of hope for the future. One wants to be a doctor; one a career councelor, a nurse, social workers, and an engineer. They all want what many of us from the west take for granted; an opportunity.
I hold to much power and it scares the shit out of me. I have the power of deciding who has an opportunity to escape a continuous cycle of poverty and distress that surrounds them.
I have to believe that God is making the decision with me to get through this. However, I think about the time I walk down the dusty streets of Masoyi five years from now and see one of the youth who did not make the program; walking out of his small house; the same house I had seen him walk out of five years earlier.
Father I can’t do this. I need your help.

Not Comin Home

Friends and Family,
I lie here on my bed in my small room in a farm in the middle of rural South Africa. I have lied in this bed many nights thinking about when I would be coming home to see all of you and to get some renewed energy before coming back for a new session of Forward students in January. However, as I lie in my bed this time, thoughts of an African Christmas run through my mind.
After many conversations with my family I have decided to cancel my trip home. Many reasons on why I should come home and why I should stay have run through my mind literally on an hourly basis. Obviously the thoughts of coming home surround seeing me family and my friends; that is truly the only reason to come home. On the other hand is the reality of leaving Africa. This is not an easy task as those of you who have been here know. The realities of this place do not leave your mind when your plane lands back in the west. Personally the adjustment period for me back home is not a short one. I am a bitter man when I return and do not want to bring that bitterness back to all of you; Especially since my time at home is so short and my attitude usually takes longer then three weeks to adjust back home.
In addition, I do not want to say goodbye once again. When I said goodbye in July it was one of the hardest things I have had to do. It took me a good month and a half to adjust over here and I cannot do that again. I was very depressed during that time and cannot imagine going through that one more time. Even as I talked to my parents and the realization of me staying was forming, it was hard to say goodbye once again. It that was difficult, I cannot imagine another face to face goodbye.
At the time I had booked my flight, the thoughts of being home were consuming my mind. The thoughts of playing some hockey with the boys, going for a hike with my dad, seeing a concert with my sister, going for coffee with my mom, and spending Christmas celebrations and visiting all of you. I was thinking about this so much I almost forgot that wouldn’t last and I we be coming back here again.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Africa; it is my home. The difficulty is I have two families, two sets of friends, and two homes. This is my home for now and I need to be here to be healthy enough to come back to Canada when the time is right.
I miss all of you more then you will know. And although my parents keep telling me that they are fine because they are all together, I feel like I owe all of you an apology. I know that some of us have made plans and for that I apologize.
I can’t wait to see you in the spring and remember; you can always come visit me here!!!
I would love to hear from you!
Thanks for all of your continuous support and prayers,
Dan
P.S. I have posted an album of pics on facebook.

A Letter From D

Dear Dan,
I am writing this letter to you about my experience in prison. I am attending church inside here and I hope that one day God will answer my prayers so that I can be out and fulfill my dream of finishing school.
As I had told you before, I do not know anything about this case and I mean it. My life in prison is hell and I am surviving by always praying to God. Sometimes I ask myself why me, and I don't understand. I sometimes cry because I feel that I have been neglected by people I love.
The way I respect people, I never steal or robbed anyone, and now I found myself in the wrong place with no future. I remember when police searched us. They never found nothing but they arrested me. I need your help my friend. I miss playing soccer with you.
Dan may you please buy me this things. 2L milk, rolls, biscuits, 1L juice, phonecard, 2 roll-on, and cool drink. I am also asking for your contact numbers for the phone. I am very delighted to have a friend like you. Sometimes I say God is great because you came in my life when I was just dying inside my heart. I love you man and I miss you.

Your friend,
D

Superman Dan: By Laura Pope

Leaping out of the vehicle, he rushes towards the scene. He has worked hard all day doing budget work for an orphan education program. He could be heading home right now to rest. But it seems that his day’s work isn’t done yet. A man, bloodied and unconscious, lies on the side of the road. Laughter filters through the unconcerned crowd. He asks for the number of the police. He records the license plate of a car as it speeds away. He stands near the fallen man, making sure no one moves the body causing further injury. His voice is filled with concern and compassion. He wants to do the right thing, but isn’t quite sure what that is. Unlike the mob of people around, he is trying to help.

This incident is not just a true story, but also a metaphor for the way Superman Dan lives here in South Africa. He knows the things he sees every day are not just, good or right. He takes in the pain he sees, allows himself to be moved by compassion and makes a plan to improve that person’s life, even if only in the smallest way. While others stand by in confusion at the seemingly undefeatable curses of HIV and poverty, Dan looks at the individual and does everything and anything he can.

Dan hasn’t updated his blog recently, but I can assure you that it is not because he has nothing to write about. Every day he experiences things that break him a little more. But how can he explain how he enters a depressing Tuberculosis hospital every chance he gets so he can visit a young boy sick there? How can he bear to write about the young mother and child who have just been tested as HIV+ and are literally on death’s doorstep? How can he speak of visiting a teenager in prison and going to his court case the next day to make sure that he gets fair representation in a system filled with gaps and corruption? Superman Dan refuses to allow someone who needs love to go without. He makes every effort to show them they are not alone. Although he is busy running a program that is changing the future of youth who were never given a chance to be something, he finds time to put out other little fires on the side. He has entered the scene of the accident and won’t leave until the emergency is over.