August 20, 2008
My Journey of Faith
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“I will read from Psalm 2 in the Bible—the passage that changed my life:
Why do the nations conspire and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth take their stand against the LORD and against his Anointed One. “Let us break their chains, they say, “and throw off their fetters.”
The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them. Then he rebukes them in his anger and terrifies them in his wrath, saying, “I have installed my King on Zion, my holy hill. I will proclaim the decree of the LORD:
Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will rule them with an iron scepter; you will dash them to pieces like pottery.”
Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth. Serve the LORD with fear and rejoice with trembling.
Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and you be destroyed in your way, for his wrath can flare up in a moment. Blessed are all who take refuge in him.
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Can anyone think they can get away with evil without being accountable? Do the powerful really think they can commit crimes against the weak and overpower the rule of law set in place not by man, but by God—the creator of the entire universe, including them?
This scripture warns all, but especially the most powerful in the world, that God is in charge—human beings are not—no matter how hard they try to “break the chains” of God’s law and justice, He will prevail and we best submit to His authority. This will be the topic of my talk today as it was the scripture that unexpectedly thrust me into the work of human rights as a “calling” rather than as a job.
I want to thank Pastor Karen Sandell, this congregation and my good friend, Clay and his wife Cheryl for inviting me to speak today. It is an honor and a privilege to be here. I am not a pastor, like my older brother, but yet it is not the first time I have been asked to speak in a church.
I could never have imagined it before a life-changing event in December of 2003 threw my quiet life in Saskatoon into a journey with deep valleys, deserts and mountains that I could never have anticipated. As I stand before you today, I am witness to the truth that God dramatically changes lives, like my own, when we least expect it!
I was asked to talk about my human rights work
Today, I was asked to talk about my human rights work, something that is closely connected, nurtured and sustained by my faith in Jesus Christ. I did not know that this work was part of God’s plan and purpose for me, but now as I look back, I see that God’s hand of preparation began many years ago when I was a young child in Africa. I am from Gambella, Ethiopia, from a tiny, marginalized ethnic group called Anuak. Gambella is in the southwestern region of Ethiopia and Anuakland extends over the border into southern Sudan.
I was nearly 18 years of age when I migrated to Canada where I attended high school after which I then went on to attend the University of Saskatchewan. Saskatoon is my home, even though I will always have one foot in Africa for I have never forgotten where I have come from. Much of Africa is a poor place with no access to clean water, education, health care and other opportunities we enjoy here in Canada. Much of the reason I wanted to come here was for something that is desired by most every African—an education.
I had a very happy childhood. We were in such a remote area, that we almost exclusively, were only around other Anuak. I never remember witnessing or experiencing discrimination or being told that I was less than someone else based on superficial distinctions. It was only at an older age when I was exposed to discrimination against darker-skinned people, like myself, in Sudan and in other parts of Ethiopia. However, it had little effect on my identity because I already had a strong foundation. I can thank my parents, my grandmother, my community and the teachings of my ethnic group who viewed everyone as equal.
The word “Nyuak” means sharing and the word “Anuak” means the people who share together, eat together and laugh together. This was lived out in our daily life. No one was supposed to go hungry or be ashamed for not having enough food to eat so the food would be in one container and all were welcome to eat. The women would sit together and the men would do the same.
We kids could eat at anyone’s home. During suppertime, this meant that we would eat a little bit at different homes, so we always carried our spoons with us. Many relatives lived close by—our cousins, aunts, grandmas and grandpas—all enriching our lives in different ways. When outsiders came, they were heartily welcomed. It was our culture and it was a treasure in my life to be raised in this way.
The Anuak are considered an endangered people group
Just a short aside—although the Anuak are considered an endangered people group, different Anuak families have migrated within Africa and still maintain the same language and similar cultural values.
These families are called the Lou people (also spelled Lwo/Luo). The Lou are a family of linguistically affiliated ethnic groups who live in an area that stretches from the Gambella region in south western Ethiopia, the southern Sudan, through northern Uganda and eastern Congo (DRC), into western Kenya, and ending in the upper tip of Tanzania. People who speak Luo languages include the Shilluk, Anuak, Acholi, Lango, Palwo, Alur, Padhola, Joluo (Kenyan Luo), Bor, and Kumam. Many of them have names that start with O—like Obang, Odenga, Omot, Obama, Oboya, Ochan, Okello, Ojulu and so forth.
Because of my protected background, when I grew up and went to the larger cities, I discovered a different world than the village of sharing. I found the world of the individual—of “me alone.” I also found the world of money, guns, power, greed, hatred and tribalism. I don’t mean we had no conflicts in our village, but our elders would help deal with them peacefully. They would tell us that God created us and that we have a purpose. We were to share what we had because God shared it with each of us and because we did not get on our own.
However, when I finally got to Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, I saw that there were all sorts of distinctions between people that affected how one was treated, like dark-skinned vs light-skinned, having money vs not having money, having an education vs not having an education, having power vs not having power, holding a gun vs not holding a gun—all creating a new class structure that collided with my world as I had known it.
I saw people with money buying good things to eat, but not sharing it with anyone else. I could smell the good food, but never got to taste it. This is when I first heard about slavery, how even Africans, Westerners and Arabs in past years would sell other people as commodities rather than considering them human beings. It was in response to my disillusionment with this new and bigger world that caused me to start asking why God allowed these things to happen to people and I started to doubt God.
I already had seen the agony and suffering of the Sudanese refugees who came through Anuakland in huge numbers. I saw the displacement of many thousands of people into the Gambella area during the Ethiopian drought of 1984 and the death it brought with it. I witnessed the guns being used for power and intimidation. I saw the evil actions of men and the lack of action by others. It began my period of questioning.
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