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Like sheep among goats we come.
We stand out and gather a crowd.
Here to serve and give of ourselves;
instead,
The mark we bear looms as an ominous
thunderhead.
 
“It’s their culture to welcome and
serve
those who come to visit,” I hear.
Yet how long does this visitor’s
welcome last?
When will we be residents here?
 
Does a month with a promise of five
more to come
not allow me a seat at the table of
community?
Or will the color of my skin forever
impair
the service demanded by Christ’s love
in me?

We continue to be served, not give the
opportunity
to love and to do so in return.
And amid jocular quips of being
“painted black”,
this white-hot fire begins to burn.
 
When will they see? How can I show?
I am their brother- no more or less.
I want to stand and work alongside,
not be lifted and honored above the
rest.

We are not a traveling Mzungu choir
to be paraded and shown-off as we move
through the streets.
Nor are we to continually be shown such
great honor
with song and dance and rhythmic drum
beat.

There is a difference between a welcome
in love
and one given solely because of one’s
ethnicity.
There also exists a difference between
service and subservience
which leads to praise fit for a deity.

How can I show? When will they see?
I’m no better or worse than any
around me,
and in reality, when placed upon the
scale, I neither rise nor fall
regardless of who is set opposite or
whose judgment makes the call.

I want to see an end to all of this
favoritism-
this quasi-honoring yet wholly
detrimental racism.

I suppose I will give a short summary
to explain. Hopefully you all understood: yes, this is a poem I
wrote. Though it may not be torturing school kids in years to come
and may not be fit to study, I was pleased when I finished writing it
at how accurately it conveys the message I intended. It stems from
observations beginning from when I arrived in Busia and was realized
last night after our group of Mzungus was served cake alongside the
families of the bride and groom at a wedding we attended yesterday.
No one else who attended was served in this manner. And in case you
were wondering, no, we didn’t really know either the bride or the
groom. That’s not OK with me. I actually got up and walked away
before they made their way over (in a manner so as not to draw
attention to myself) before they could come serve us, because I felt
so convicted. Here in Uganda, a former British colony, a majority of
the remaining Africans still possess a very subservient attitude when
it comes to dealing with white people. That even shows up in the way
the kids jump up and down or in the way the Church members here
interact with us. We have credibility because we are white, and
though I know God is making good use of this attitude to give us the
opportunity to share, I desire for my credibility to derive from the
trust of those whom I meet based on relationships that I form.
Please pray for myself, my team, and the people that we come into
contact with- that we continue to form these type of relationships so
that we might be able to speak truth into this problem that I have
observed. Please pray that we would be able to show those around us
that we are no different from them, and skin color does not affect in
the least the intrinsic value of each individual- and individual
loved by God and created to love Him in return.

3 responses to “I Neither Rise Nor Fall”

  1. Kyle: often when I write, it comes out as a poem, just does. Guess I don’t have a lot of words in me even though you might disagree from class days when I droned on and on. Ha (I hope). Keep writing. It’s a catharsis. Prayer on paper. Christ in Christmas, Christ our hope. BWat

  2. Thanks for sharing. Sounds like you’re doing just fine holding on to truth and living accordingly.