One could look far and wide before finding an emerging leader with as much passion and charisma as
Jerome. Between lecturing in anthropology at a university in Kampala, he runs one of the most
successful student ministries in East Africa called Primetime.

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My trip to Rwanda begins in Kenya. The airlines left me with a 3-day layover in Nairobi and a friend named Steve is hosting my stay. He is a head pastor with the Anglican Church of Kenya. He is married to Mary and has two daughters, Rinna and Tanielle. They are 8 and 5 years old and constantly insist that I wear my hear down “so as to look more like Jesus.” Their English is superb and they speak conversational French. Swahili is their first language.As it turns out Steve is writing his dissertation on the emerging church in Africa…

Read the rest of Andrew’s story in an amazing photo essay here:

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By Curtis Love

It’s been a month now since I have returned from the Rwanda experience, and I can feel there are levels of the experience that I may never be able to ever fully articulate. I can safely say I will never be the same person. While there were many thoughts and quests that arose during and after the conference, there is one particular experience and point of clarity that I have decided to try and wrestle into words. The ‘revelation’ is simple enough and yet at the time of ‘receiving’ it, it was really tough to get my head around. In the last few years something has begun to stir in me as I have lived and studied in my homeland of South Africa (I am a 5th generation white South African) I have felt a strong sense of dis-ease within myself, something I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on or nail down. I am sure there is more than one factor contributing to my dis-ease but one that become somewhat more clear to me at the conference is the fact that I am lost, homeless, a stranger in my land…let me explain.

While it is true that I am of European descent, I have no idea where my ancestors came from (my parents tell me Scotland) but the reality is I have no connection (in terms of relatives) to Europe other than my white skin. Many people that I have encountered from abroad are unaware that there is a large English speaking population of White people in South Africa. Most people are aware of the Afrikaans speaking White people in South Africa (of Dutch descent). The interesting thing to note about the Afrikaners (which is indicated by their name, for Afrikaner means African) is that they as a culture have intentionally severed their roots with their ‘homeland’, no longer thinking of themselves as Europeans but rather as white Africans. This is reflected in Afrikaans leader’s rhetoric in discussing the place of the Afrikaner in the New South Africa, arguing that they are African’s and not foreigners. The majority of the English community seems to be much less intentional about this whole process and in a sense have been neither ‘here nor there’ when it comes to the question of identity. I often joke describing English (South African) culture as been unperturbed as to who is in power in South Africa (or whether they refer to ‘us’ as Africans or westerners/Europeans) as long as they get their paycheck at the end of the month! English South Africans (this is a generalisation but seems to be true in my experience) tend to be the most politically apathetic group in South Africa, but touch there pockets and all of a sudden they are out there canvassing support for political revolution.

There seems to be a lack of clarity as to the identity of English speaking South Africans, are we Africans? Are we Europeans living in Africa, thus not making us African but actually European? Or are we some kind of hybrid, Euro-Africans as Steve Biko classified whites living in South Africa? These are questions that have been troubling me for some time now and were intensified and (somewhat) clarified at the Amahoro experience.

In my high school history class, I began to develop a great love for Africa in general and South Africa in particular and so would often proudly declare ‘I am an African’ to my White friends who often found this ‘exotic’ at best or perturbing at worst (many white people in South Africa still think of Africa as ‘out there’).  As I finished high school and continued reading African and South African History/philosophy I was introduced to the discussion of African Identity, i.e. ‘what makes someone African?’ Is it their skin colour or their geographical location? Or their culture or their commitment to the future of Africa? Is there something we can call ‘Africaness’ that distinguishes ‘Africaness” from ‘Europeaness or ‘Asianess’ and what is that ‘Africaness’? This began to raise questions within myself as to my confident high school declaration that ‘I am an African’.

Coupled with this was a growing awareness of the violent past which South Africa had experienced (at the hands of my people). Not only was I beginning to doubt my ‘Africaness’, for by my own evaluation, my culture, language, skin colour and way of being in this world was in no way African, but now I was beginning to realise that I was also a ‘foreigner’ in this land. In fact not only was I a foreigner but a violent, oppressive foreigner at that. My descendants had come here, stealing land, killing people and their cultures, in the name of God, civilisation and commercialisation. They then actively contributed to and supported the construction of one of the most dehumanising systems our world has come to see (Apartheid) of which I am a (economic and social) beneficiary.  All theses questions swirled around in me, creating a confusing and overwhelming white-noise (no pun intended) within myself as I struggled to figure out my (peoples) place in South Africa. There were two things I was certain of 1) Europe was not my home, although I acknowledge that my culture could broadly be defined as Western in assumptions, outlook and practice, Africa was my birthplace, the only soil I had touched. 2) I Love Africa, this is the continent in which my Western cultural heritage has been lived out, hopefully in a more humble, generous and self-critical way than my forefathers? Africa is not an abstraction for me, but a reality within which I interact in on a daily basis, a reality in which I hope to be part of the solution and not the problem. Sadly I think my culture is often part of the problem, pessimistic, prejudiced, narrow-minded, overly confident about ‘the way things are’ or ‘the way things should be’ but there are signs of hope (which is to say signs of God) as some people in my culture begin to open their eyes to our own violence, both past and present.

I think one part of being an African is being committed to the future of Africa and her people, in all their beauty. In which case I could call myself an African without denying the obvious heritage that is mine. This cultural heritage of mine is now seen in a new light is always reflected on in light of its possible contributions to the future of Africa, which will at times cause me to seriously doubt some of my these assumptions about ‘the way things are’ or the ‘way things should be’ and other times may cause me to take on new assumptions from others who are committed to the future of Africa. I long to learn from the hills and grasslands of the continent of birth, I long to be shaped by the stories of its people. I long to invite the stories of Africa to shape my inherited story, shedding light, critiquing and complimenting it, making me a more whole and rounded human being.

The intensity of Amahoro at times was overwhelming but it also provided the place for a ‘forging in the flames’. I was confronted with the violent history of my people and have accepted that history as a part of my story and identity. I have accepted these dehumanising, shameful, violent and unfathomable acts as well as the possibility that if I were in the same position I would have possibly done the same thing. In a strange way the acceptance of the violence of my past is liberating, I ‘stared the beast in the eye’ so to speak and instead of rendering me guilt ridden and overwhelmed it has given me perspective, infused me with vitality to strengthen my resolve to be committed to peace, humility and justice. It has also made me much more sensitive to the subtle (as damaging?) forms of violence that permeate our language and actions.

The great irony I have come to understand in this journey is that my violent past could be the very means of my salvation into a more peaceful future closer aligned to the way of the Great Teacher.

Thank you so much (words are inadequate) to all at Amahoro for been a catalyst for change and renewal in our lives as we seek to be people who truly follow in the humble and peaceful way of our teacher Jesus.

I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to have participated in the Amahoro-Africa Gathering in Rwanda. It was a beautiful time of friendship making with some really fun and amazing people from around the world. I was inspired at so many levels to hear their stories of engagement in local and global endeavors addressing situations of injustice, human rights, AIDS, micro-financing and community development as followers of Jesus. I now have friends who are actively involved in peace-making efforts in the conflicts in Kenya, Mozambique and South Africa. Lila Pilamaya (thank you very much) Claude and Kelley for being invited to the party!

The story of the past twenty years of Rwanda was heartbreaking, tragic beyond comprehension, confusing and inspiring. The horrors of colonization are evident globally. The genocide that ultimately happened as the direct result of social engineering attempts on the part of the Belgian regime to scientifically classify the Tutsi tribe as being superior to the Hutu (size of head, wideness of nose, set of eyes, height, etc.) and thus preferring them in assigning roles of power in the colonial system of government established. This created the environment which led to animosity between these tribes who share the same language and have a long-standing history of shared living and relationship between them.

Visiting the mass grave sites where 200,000 people were buried along with the 2 catholic churches that were massacre sites of 5000 in one and 20,000 in another was numbing. Seeing the blood stained and dirt covered clothes from all the victims scattered in the churches along with hundreds of unclaimed skeletal remains, including skulls carefully lined up in rows on shelves, seemed so unreal as to be staged.

I had taken tobacco ties with me (small cloth pouches filled with tobacco) thinking I may need them. Among many of our tribes tobacco is considered a sacred herb and used for prayer, blessing and truth-telling. At a church, I felt deeply compelled to sing a song of remembrance and put tobacco on the shelf with the rows of skulls. The skeletal remains were not enclosed in any way. If you wanted you could touch them. I asked two men from Africa to stand with me as our group had moved away from this spot. I sang a traditional style native song of mourning and remembrance for these people. Many in the building began to weep as the Spirit of the Lord visited with us. After I finished I wept too.

Listening to Hutu believers confess their stories of shame, guilt and sorrow for what they had done and saw the forgiveness that was exhibited by the Tutsi believers toward them inspired hope in me. I was completely blown away! I cannot relate to that depth of forgiveness. Listening to Freda tell how the attackers lined her entire family up in a pit and murdering her mother, caved her brothers and sisters heads in with clubs and finally clubbed her and buried them all, then to see her so clothed in the love and mercy of God was beyond my ability to “get.”

As a First Nations Christ-follower in the United States, I too am confronted with 400 years of genocide, colonial oppression and the devastation of American imperialism among our tribal people. We are still here. Christianity is considered the “white man’s religion” and still attempts to assimilate us culturally as part of its evangelization efforts.

Jesus is amazing! His love for us in the midst of our brokenness is way too good to be true and calls me to be conformed to his likeness and image! I am reminded of the Father’s grace and goodness in my life and challenged again to love and walk as Jesus walked among his followers, critiques, opponents and enemies.

Peace, as you walk in the Jesus Way!

Richard Twiss, Rosebud Lakota/Sioux Tribe
Wiconi International (www.wiconi.com)

Uganda July 1-4, 2008

By Sarah Gonski

“The hope of Africa is in the young, emerging, innovative, resourceful leaders. Amahoro is committed to these leaders because they are the hope of Africa. They are not waiting for donations or from permission from an NGO or government. They are out there, working hard in their own communities and contexts, following the call. The only invitation they need is Jesus.” – Kelley Johnson Nikondeha
With these words of purpose, the inaugural Amahoro Summer Institute in Kampala, Uganda was officially under way. Last week, forty emerging leaders from East Africa came together at this event to discuss what it means to be a transformational leader in the way of Jesus.
Our discussion aimed to address three main questions relating to theology, context and praxis. We asked:
What is the story of God? How does the story of God collide with our local story? How do I live out the story of God in my unique context?
Throughout our time together, we had stimulating conversations on the role of culture in faith, and how our allegiance to a denomination, a country or a framing story can all too easily co-opt our allegiance to Jesus or skew his message. Time spent in dialogue and learning was sprinkled liberally with more concentrated time in small groups. This small group time was a crucial part of the conversation, and created space for us to communally process through the theological heft of the seminar sessions.

We also had lively discussions on the various ways in which we have read our story into Scripture. We reflected on how we often fail to see the story of the Bible as continuous, and can sometimes get stuck in various portions of the story, such as the Fall or the early church. As a consequence, we sometimes fail to fully live into our unique stories because we get stuck trying to live into the lost context of a past.

As pastor and board member Tim Keel says, there are “three things Amahoro does well: create space for theological discussion, create relational space, and create transformational space”. Through these Institutes, we aim to provide a safe and fertile environment for generative theological discussion and for new relationships to blossom. By encouraging our friends in attendance to ask questions, challenge themselves in new ways, and to be a part of the fluid dynamic of the conversation, we are inviting them to shape the event in whatever ways are particularly relevant in their local context..

Within the next few weeks, we will be hosting similar gatherings in Burundi and South Africa. Please pray with us, as each unfolds, that those in attendance would find their time together to be a blessing!