Racing through the pot-holed and garbage-strewn streets of the once beautiful Benghazi, now crumbling after 42 years deliberate neglect, Ahmed, our “taxi” driver turns to me and asks, “Turkish?”, “No, American”, I reply. Instantly his eyes brighten and a broad grin breaks through his full black beard as he replies in a thick Arabic accent, “Oh Amedeeca! Thankyoo for coming Benghazi! You are welcome here!” This is Benghazi, the heart and soul of the Libyan revolution.
I use the word “taxi” loosely because there really aren’t any per se, but just about any passing driver will rise to the occasion for the stranded pedestrian who simply raises a hand on the side of the road. Never mind the complete absence of traffic law enforcement and the fact that nearly every patched up vehicle racing by looks as though it has survived multiple collisions. A modest two Dinar (about $1.50) will take you just about anywhere in Benghazi.
Throughout the city there are still many signs of the recent war: bullet ridden, blown up and burned out buildings; heavily armed, volunteer military checkpoints; and, creative expressions of freedom in the form of spray-painted malevolent sentiments toward the recently deposed dictator. However, in spite of the less than aesthetic appearance of the city, and the many tragedies suffered during the war, I have been surprised to find the people of Benghazi to be incredibly (if not overwhelmingly) generous, warm-hearted and hospitable.
Unlike our western, task-driven, “get it done” mentality, relationship is paramount here. Work seems to be, for them, what small talk is to us; just something you do to fill in the gaps. Since there is not much in the way of nightlife or entertainment here in post-war Libya, socializing has evolved into a serious endurance sport. It is not uncommon for an after-dinner meet up for “coffee” to turn into an all night series of events. For example, one evening, after my first hour of coffee and conversation with a new friend, our host insisted that we continue on to another coffee shop. Here we were obliged to try smoking some apple flavored tobacco called “Sheesha”, otherwise known as “Hookah” or “Hubbly Bubbly”. Of course, that was after making a “quick stop at a funeral to pay our respects.
After an hour of smoking and chatting, it would have been rude if we did not make at least one more stop at our new friend’s house to say hello to the family. Before I knew it another hour or so had passed. I thought surely we would be heading home now. But, oh what a terrible host our friend would be to send us home hungry, for surely we must be famished by now! So, it was off to the local market (it was now midnight) to pick up some supplies for a second dinner of grilled chicken with some more friends out at the farm. After stuffing ourselves for the second time that night, we washed down the generous meal with a few strong cups of Libyan green before calling it a night. Just when I thought we were nearly home, I watched as we passed our turn-off for one more coffee and Sheesha stop (it is now 2am). All of this without a single break in the never-ending stream of conversation! Such is Libyan hospitality.
As good-natured as the people of Libya are, they have suffered much. Their hard-won freedom came at a great cost of life and widespread destruction. Although the revolution was over in less than a year, the hard work of restoration is just beginning. “It is easy to tear something down,” my Libyan friend recently said, “but rebuilding takes time.” You can cut a tree down in seconds, but it takes decades to grow a new one. 50 years ago, Libya was a beautiful, thriving country. In the wake of this war people are very eager, if not impatient, to see their nation restored to the beautiful, thriving society that it once was. As many people here have been quick to remind me, Libya is not poor. There is a great deal of money available and a rich oil supply that promises no shortage of capital in the years to come. Though resources are needed, the real poverty from which this nation now suffers is in the hearts and minds of the people.
After 42 years of horrific oppression under Gadafi, the emotional, relational and social poverty of this nation has been devastating. Historically a breeding ground for rebels and revolutionaries, Benghazi bore the brunt of this lunatic’s animosity. Among his many crimes, Gadafi was known to administer forms of “punishment” ranging from the imprisonment and torture of countless “trouble makers” (anyone who dared oppose him) without trial, to the systematic raping of men, women and children in entire cities. He once even command nurses at hospital in Benghazi to intentionally infect hundreds of children with HIV. As if all the years of oppression were not enough, Benghazi suffered some of the heaviest casualties of the war as the vast majority of “Freedom Fighters” came out of this passionate city. Needless to say, our efforts to help care for the psychological and emotional recovery of the people of Libya will not be an easy or quick task.
In light of the imposing nature of this task, my role here seems completely insignificant. Most of my time has been spent attending World Health Organization meetings, coordinating with group leaders, planning training sessions, general problem solving, and so on. I have not saved any starving children, built any houses, nursed any wounds, or really changed anyone’s lives. The measurable impacts of my visit have been negligible at best. It would seem very easy for me to become jaded, as I have in times past, with the awareness of how little “change” my efforts will ultimately bring in and of themselves. But I have learned not to think of it this way.
Over the past few years I have become acutely aware of how full of myself I really am, but the hard realities of life have a way of smoothing out our rough edges. I have come to recognize the ugly face of pride that seems to hide behind every good intention of mine, the pride that causes me to strive to be recognized and known for my great efforts in life. Though I could not pinpoint any one great moment that shifted my perspective, I believe my gaze was turned outward by the example of humility that I have seen in others. Humility is the great antidote to pride, although it often seems as elusive as pride is ever present. With my growing awareness that service is not about me, I have ceased struggling for merit badges and measurable accomplishments and have come to embrace my part the greater processes that bring about real change in the world. The process is everything.
Often in the West our attempts to serve those in need are more harmful than helpful. This is largely because our perception of “poverty” is often short-sighted, seeing only the lack of basic material goods or needs. As a result, many of our efforts to “help” miss the areas of greatest need. It does little good, for example, to feed the hungry if the system or mindset that is keeping people in such a state is left untouched. I read recently, in a book entitled “When Helping Hurts,” that the root of all poverty is relational breakdown; broken relationships between an individual and God, himself, others and the natural world around him. If any one of these relationships is broken, poverty results. Though basic needs of medical aid, food, clean water and shelter must be met in emergency situations, there are less obvious forms of poverty far more detrimental to a society; poverty of spirit, lack of dignity, lost hope, broken families, and corrupt systems that prevent people from rising up out of their broken state. These kinds of poverty can not be fixed by a quick “get in and get the job done” forms of aid. They require the long term, relational investment of people who are willing to partner with hurting people as equals, with a heart to work interdependently toward the common goal of becoming better people.
This is the approach we are trying to model with Acts of Mercy. Our goal is not to do the work for Libyans but, as an organization, to partner with them for the long haul. I have no doubt that what we are doing here is good and necessary, but is precisely the “we” that will make it effective. As we continue to build genuine relationships and empower local leaders we are beginning to see the slow and steady growth of a program that has great potential to help restore the minds of this people, one small group at a time. As my paradigm has shifted from a task-based mindset to a relational mindset, I have started focusing more of my efforts on building strong friendships and serving, to the best of my ability, the emotional needs of our friends here. So much of what is needed here is simply a sense of normalcy; friendships, laughter, a sympathetic ear, and a good meal. I am simply breaking ground… someone else will water, another will prune and others will harvest. The whole is simply the collection of its many parts. To see real transformation happen in the world, we all must do our part.
I hope this update finds you well and that my experiences have both encouraged and challenged you, even in some small way, to see the bigger picture and embrace your part in the process of change. You do not need to give all your money, become a missionary or even join a cause. Just start giving yourself wholeheartedly to the broken in your midst and collectively, we will see great things happen in the world.
Peace Be Upon You,
Taylor
