The Reason for the Season?

This has been a very interesting holiday season for me. I am far away from everything I know. I am far from my friends and family. I am far from the Christmas lights and holiday music. I am far from the shopping malls and the wintry weather. I am far from home and traditions. But being away from everything I know as “Christmas” allows me to draw near to the real reason for the season.

Without the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season surrounding me, I am able to sit in the presence of the Father and truly celebrate the birth of His Son. The Lord is teaching me that Jesus is not just the reason for the season. He is the reason that I live each day. The Lord Almighty sent His one and only Son to be born as a baby in the little town of Bethlehem. He came to bring light into world. He came to give life to all those who believe. He came so that we could know the Father. But the world did not know Him. They did not recognize Him. They despised and hated Him. He was arrested. He was beaten. He was mocked. He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth. While being reviled, He did not revile in return; while suffering, He uttered no threats. He was hung on a cross to die. He was pierced through for our transgressions. He was crushed for our iniquities. He bore our sins in His body on the cross, so that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. For by His wounds, we were healed. After bearing our sin on the cross, He did not stay in the grave. He was not defeated by death. Rather, He conquered the grave. He conquered death. He rose again so that we could have eternal life. He bore our sins and defeated death so that we might know the Father, so that we could be forgiven, so that we could live an eternity worshiping and praising the almighty God.

This is the good news that the prophets spoke of hundreds of years before the birth of Christ. This is the good news the angels brought to the shepherds on that holy night. This is the good news that Christ proclaimed as He lived on this earth. This is the good news that the early Christians in Acts declared. This is the good news that God has called each one of us to live and proclaim.

I thank God that He took me far from the “Christmas” I have always known so that He could teach me the true reason for not just the season, but the true reason for life. I pray that this Christmas season you will consider the good news of Christ – His birth, His life, His death, His resurrection. Consider the good news that has been proclaimed for thousands of years.

Consider Christ.

Tanzania Chainsaw Massacre

For those of you who were wondering, no they don’t celebrate Halloween in Tanzania. To be honest, we passed through October 31 without even really remembering it was Halloween. There were no little children dressed in costumes at my door. No buckets of candy. No scary movies. No pumpkins on front porches. But lucky for me, the wazungu do celebrate Halloween! We were a few days late on our festivities, but they were still fun. So I thought I would give you a little recap of my Tanzanian Halloween.

We all gathered together at our friends’ house for some dinner. The background music was entitled Halloween Rock. We did our best to set the mood for Tanzanian Halloween. To further set the mood, I decided a costume would be appropriate. So I wrapped my Kanga around my neck and created my own amazing cape. I became Swahili Girl! While wearing the cape, I have the supernatural ability to speak Swahili. (It’s definitely what I’ve always dreamed of).


After dinner, the real excitement began. We had our very own watermelon carving. (Watermelon…. Pumpkin….they’re close enough). We had been talking about this Carving Contest for a few months now. It has become an annual event in Dar es Salaam. And since we live in Africa, we are entertained by even the smallest and craziest of things. Since this event was the talk of the team for a few months, there was a lot of pressure to perform well. Marissa and I weren’t too excited about the contest, but we decided to be good sports and go along with the fun. We worked as a team on our melon creation. As most of you would expect, it didn’t take long for me to get into the competition. Marissa is just about as competitive as I am… so we had our game faces on. We huddled in the corner to secretly plot our melon creation. All of the whispers and giggles had the other competitors baffled. They were definitely not expecting what they got that night. But when Marissa and I get going, it’s dangerous!

Words don’t quite do justice to the creation, so you can refer to the pictures. We entitled it “Tanzania Chainsaw Massacre.”


Our teammates were shocked that our minds would even come up with such a horrific event. Watermelons killing watermelons… who would have thought? They were actually quite impressed by our creation. As you can see in the pictures, our other competitors went for a less frightening melon display. The judges, being the sweet people that they are, decided to give different categories for each pumpkin so that everyone could be a winner. There was the cutest, the most geometric, and the most thematic. But our friend Brad wasn’t satisfied with these categories. He demanded there be a winner. So Marissa and I declared ourselves winners and everyone agreed. There was definitely no competition.


After we marveled at our wonderful creations, we did what only any normal person would do. We smashed them. We threw our melons up against a concrete wall and left all the carnage on the side of the road. Crazy wazungu!



So that was my Tanzanian Halloween. I have no doubt that Marissa and I will carry the pride of winning our first Melon Carving Contest for the rest of our lives. And when they begin to talk about next year’s carving, we will be sure to remind them of our Tanzania Chainsaw Massacre. How could they forget?

Are you willing?

I don't normally use my blog as a personal journal. I like to give you guys stories of things that are happening in Africa. But sometimes I guess it's good to let you guys know what's going on just with me. So here it is...

Last night, I called to wish one of my best friends a Happy Birthday. It was wonderful to be able to hear his voice. But it was also quite difficult. I love the opportunities that I get to talk to people from home, but sometimes they serve as reminders. Reminders of what I may be missing in America. Reminders of how different things may be when I return. Reminders that I miss being able to call my friends and family anytime I want to. Many times when these feelings start to enter my head, I try to keep busy so that I don't have to think about them. As the Lord would have it last night, we did not have any electricity. So there were not many things to occupy my mind with. So I consented to just lay on my bed. I was thinking about my friend and the conversation we had just had. He asked me on the phone, "So where do you think you will be in 2 years?" I've had this conversation with myself many times. Where will you be in 2 years Whitney? And every time I tell myself that I will be back home. So last night, with no electricity, nothing to do, the Lord began to speak...

(excerpt from journal)

Are you willing? Are you willing to be obedient? How far will you go to follow Me? I've asked you to sacrifice your comfort, your home, your friends, and family for a short time. What if I ask you to stay? What if I ask you for more? Will you be willing? Will you draw another bottom line? You had a bottom line - friends and family. You said, "Oh God... I will miss them too much. I won't make it two years without them." But I took away your bottom line. I asked you to follow Me and you did. But how far will you follow? Will you follow to death? There are many who are laying down their lives for me. If I asked you, would you? But right now, it's not death that is your line. It's 2 years. 2 years is your line. You have drawn your time limit on Me. "I will follow God for 2 years here and then I will follow Him back home." Haven't I showed you child? Home is with me. You are at home no matter where you are, because your heart is at home with Me. One day you will be in your perfect home in perfect fellowship with Me. Until then, how far will you follow? Will you lay down what I ask you to? Are you willing to be obedient?

I don't know if this makes sense to anyone else. But it made sense between God and me. And I knew I needed to share it.

Making Friends

Making friends here is a very different process than in the States. Sometimes it is actually very entertaining. It is not culturally inappropriate to approach someone you do not know and begin a conversation. So I have met many of my new friends by simply sitting down next to someone and introducing myself.

A few weeks ago, however, I was the one who was approached. I had tried to visit a couple of my friends on campus, but they were not in their rooms. So I decided to sit and read until my next meeting. I picked a nice shade tree to sit under near the chapel. Not too long after I sat down, I met my new friend. She just walked right up and started talking. We did our best to communicate in Swahili because she could not speak English. It was a wonderful way for me to practice all the things I had learned. She was a very patient teacher as well. Her name is Rachel.

Did I mention that Rachel is only 5 years old?

I learned a lot about Rachel during our time by the chapel. We talked about her family and her school. We talked about what she likes to do. She even drew a picture for me. I asked her if I could take a picture of her with my camera. She became very intrigued with my camera. So I taught her how to push the button to take a picture. She quickly got the hang of it and proceeded to take a picture of nearly everything. She would take pictures of rocks, leaves, trees, cars…. It didn’t matter what the object was. She just enjoyed being able to push the button and then see the image on the back of the camera. She took pictures of my purse, my skirt, her dress. She even took pictures of people as they walked by. Five year olds can get by with a lot more than adults can.

While we sat and talked, we got a lot of funny stares. They always stare at me because of my white skin. But they were even more intrigued that I was playing with a Tanzanian child.

After we had played together for a while, Rachel looked at me and said, “Twende nyumbani kwangu.” Hmmm…. My Swahili brain started to turn as I tried to translate the sentence. Eventually, I realized that she was saying “Let’s go to my house.” Another cultural difference, inviting people to your home is very common and turning them down is very rude. But I wasn’t sure if it would be okay for me to show up at a house with a 5 year old and try to explain to her parents how we met. I did not know if they would accept me. I did not know if they would speak English. I did not know what would happen. I did not even know where they lived. But I knew I couldn’t turn down the offer by my new sweet friend.

So we headed off towards her house. Luckily, it was just down the road from the chapel. When we arrived at her driveway, I thought maybe I would just try and say goodbye to her there and avoid having to go in the house and meet the parents. It was obvious that that wasn’t going to work. (Remember all of this is happening with my limited knowledge of Swahili). So I entered her house praying that the Lord would bring me into a home with kind parents. We sat down in the living room and I met her 12 year old sister Tumaini. Another cultural thing, if you own a TV, you always have it on. Especially when you have guests. So we sat and watched music videos on the TV. After a few music videos, I was introduced to Matilda, a 19 year old girl cousin (You can see a picture Rachel took of her in the kitchen). The parents, however, were not home yet.

The time was approaching for my next appointment, so I told them that I must go. They all asked me to come back again tomorrow. So the next day I returned for another home visit. When I arrived, Matilda invited me to the table to eat with her and her sister. It was my first time to eat in a home. I was given fish, spinach, ugali, and an orange. Ugali is difficult to describe but it is a very mushy type of bread without any flavor. They use it as their eating utensil. They tear a piece off, press their thumb in it to create a spoon, and scoop up the food. A little while later, I was also given a scrambled egg. It was another very interesting dining experience, but praise the Lord that I was able to eat it all.

After lunch, we sat together and looked through pictures. My little friend Rachel was napping so I didn’t get to play with her again. And the parents were not home again, but they told me that they told their parents all about me. I wonder what they thought about their 5 year old daughter having a 22 year old mzungu friend (white friend). Maybe on my next visit I will be able to meet them.

Making friends is always fun in Tanzania!

Creative Cooking

So I will admit…. I’m not the best at updating my blog. But for those of you who are still reading it, I promise I will try and do better. Let me know if there is anything you would like to see on here. I am working on getting more pictures online. I will be sure to let you know when that happens and how you can see them.

Here is an interesting meal that I thought I would share with you guys. I visited my good friend Eleanor one Sunday afternoon. Before I leave my house, I always try to eat something. Then… if I am offered some food, I can politely turn it down because I’ve already eaten. Well, since Africans are so hospitable, sometimes that excuse doesn’t work. On this particular Sunday, my friend insisted that I try some of her spaghetti. After a quick prayer, I accepted the offer.

The exciting part was watching her create this spaghetti. The students have very little in their dorm rooms, so there’s no room for a kitchen or anything to cook with. So she has created her own specialty of Flask Spaghetti. She starts by boiling some water. Then she puts some spaghetti noodles in a thermos, which she calls her flask. She pours in the hot water and closes the lid to let the noodles cook. I insisted that she let me take pictures to share her creative cooking!

We continued to visit while the noodles were cooking in the little green thermos. Then we headed out to a little café to get some drinks. She also wanted to make the meal extra special by adding some meat to the spaghetti. It’s not the kind of ground beef you would expect to see on spaghetti, but rather it was large chunks of meat. Interesting flavor to add to spaghetti, but as the guest, what can you do?

We returned to the room to find some nicely cooked noodles. After pouring out the noodles, she added a little salt and butter. Then she added the meat and squeezed a little tomato sauce (more like really thin ketchup) on the creation.

Then it was time for my first bite of flask spaghetti! Let’s just say it wasn’t like any spaghetti I’ve ever tasted before, but it actually wasn’t too bad.

I told her that I would have her over to my house and we could make pancakes. I think that cooking experience will be something a little more familiar.

Home Sweet Home

I will never truly belong here. The color of my skin will not allow it. I stand out. It is a truth that cannot be denied. When I walk down the streets, people stare. They say “mzungu” which means “white person.” They speak to me in Swahili and laugh when I respond. They watch me as if I am some strange creature from a foreign land. This can be difficult to accept. It is in our human nature to want a place to fit in. We want to belong. We want to be accepted. No matter how hard I try, I can never be a Tanzanian.

But that is not what God has called me to. He has not called me to make this my home. My home is in heaven. This is just a temporary place. As Christians, we are all aliens and strangers to this world. We do not belong here. We do not fit in here. Many times, we are not accepted here. So how do we respond? Do we follow God’s command to “be holy as He is holy?” Or do we find ourselves “conforming to the ways of this world?”

Many times, I try hard to blend in with the Tanzanians. But just as I cannot belong to this country, we cannot belong to this “world.” God has called me to be different. He has called me to be set apart. He has called me to serve Him on this earth until He calls me home. Until then, my heart will make its home with Jesus no matter where my physical body may live.

Where do you choose to call home?

“By faith Abraham, when he was called, obeyed by going out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he lived as an alien in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, fellow heirs of the same promise; for he was looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God… All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance; and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them.” Hebrews 11:8-10, 13-16

Wild Wedding Adventures

This weekend I was invited to my first wedding sendoff. This is just one of the many parties involved in a wedding celebration. During this party, the groom’s family comes to beg the bride’s family for the bride. After following the detailed traditions, the bride’s family agrees to send off their daughter. In between the begging and the sendoff lies the party.

Marissa and I arrived at the party at 6:30pm. Our friend Martha (sister of the bride) escorted us to our table. We were then re-escorted to a reserved table. We don’t know how we classified as reserved guests but to guess that the color of our skin played a significant part. We sat near the high table which included all of the family of the bride. Our friend Martha said that over 100 relatives came together to plan this special send off. They had invited 500 guests. Of those 500, Marissa and I were the only wazungu (white people). She showed us the detailed schedule of the night that began before we even arrived. They had each activity planned down to the minute. At this point, we were waiting for the groom’s side of the party to arrive.

While we were waiting for the groom’s side to arrive, the aunties of the bride began to do some traditional Haya dancing. This is the tribe of the mother of the bride. Marissa and I were privileged to be the only white people attempting this dance. While they were all very encouraging and welcoming, I’m sure they got a good laugh out of the dancing wazungu.


An hour and a half later, the groom’s side finally arrived. They came in to the party dancing, chanting, and carrying gifts. They greeted the family and presented all of their gifts. The next section of the wedding included all of the many traditions involved in asking for the bride. While it all took place in Swahili, our friend tried to translate some of the happenings. For the next hour, they plead their case as to why the family should send off the bride. After much discussion, they finally consented.

At this point, the guest of honor, the bride, finally enters the party. She arrived with an entourage of dancing children and her maid of honor. She and her friend were escorted to the stage where they carried out many more traditions. They toasted with champagne and cut the cake. But all of the activity took place between the bride and friend (not the bride and groom).


At 10pm, they finally started serving the food. I’m not sure what all I ate, but I can say that it was good. During the dinner, a live band began to play. Since all of the evening was in Swahili, it was quite a surprise when we heard “Show me the meaning of being lonely….” The older lady sitting next to us who had not spoken to us the entire night said, “You like?” We just kind of chuckled. And she responded, “Backstreet?” She began to sing along. You never know what to expect when you’re in Africa. The next song was a Shania Twain song. They topped of the English portion of the night with Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing.” Marissa and I could barely contain our laughter.

After the live band, they began to present the gifts to the bride. Each group who had bought a gift would dance in towards the stage with their gift. Then they would all dance around stage for a while and greet the bride. After everyone danced, the bride would sit back down and the next group would enter with their gift. It was a very interesting way to present gifts. I’m thinking about trying it at my next birthday party.

During the gift giving, I excused myself from the table to use the restroom. My friend asked if I needed someone to accompany me. I said I would be alright. I think I might reconsider that answer. After doing my business, I attempted to open the door to the port-a-potty. Attempt being the key word. I turned and turned the lock, but nothing happened. I shook the door several times. Still no help. Panic started to set in when I realized I was locked in the bathroom in Africa where they don’t speak English. People began to bang on the door from the outside. I started banging from the inside. All I could do was say, “Hello!” I don’t know if I have ever prayed that hard before. I continued to fidget with the lock. Finally, after what felt like hours, but I’m sure was more like 10 minutes, the door unlocked. I opened it to find a crowd of Tanzanian ladies staring at me. All I could do was say “Asante” in their language and walk off. I am sure they will forever be talking about the night the white girl got locked in the bathroom. And I’m sure the first thing I will ask my Swahili teacher is how to say “Help! I’m locked in the bathroom.”

At 12:30am, we finally left the party. The dancing had just begun again and the bride had still yet to be sent off. But we managed to sneak out. The drive home proved eventful as well. As our car began to break down, we noticed we were heading the wrong way down a one way street. When we stopped to turn around, we were soon surrounded by policemen with guns. After much pleading and lots more praying, they finally let us go without any punishment. Our car safely made it home and we safely made it to our beds... exhausted.

WELCOME!!

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