One of the hardest things every westerner has to deal with when they arrive in West Africa is the great disparity between what you have and those around you have. You step off the plane and suddenly you go from being middle class to someone who is immensely wealthy. People show up at your door weekly with great needs and you have to figure out whom to give to and how much. And you also have to learn to deal with the fact that you can not help everyone. Over the years, you end up with a list of people you help because you are in some sort of relationship to them.
That disparity between what I had and what others didn't kicked into high gear with this situation. Everyone I knew, even those normally doing okay, was pushed down into a precarious situation and those just barely getting by were suddenly desperate.
Economic sanctions beginning on April 2nd meant temporarily closed borders and skyrocketing prices for basic commodities, and shortages of fuel and electricity. This was compounded by a food security crisis that pre-dated the the security problems - the worst in a generation. The ordinary Malian, even in the peaceful southern section of the country where I live, was facing tremendous pressure. Extended family were showing up at his door due to the famine or insecurity. The price of rice was so high it was hard to buy enough to feed his family, much less those being added to it. In the North, I knew of one man who had 32 people move into his house with him fleeing insecurity and famine.
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| Grain prices are skyrocketing due to the insecurity and a famine. Many areas of Mali received no rain at all in the 2011 growing season. |
The vegetable lady I buy from several times a week and the guy who owns the little boutique down the street both sell to the expats in the neighborhood. They suddenly had no more customers as 95% of the expat community left at the request of our embassies. My refugee friends from Sierra Leone and Liberia, who have survived since 2000 by dying tablecloths to sell to foreigners, also found themselves without any clients. I knew it was bad when on my last day in Mali, one of these refugees came to me and begged for help to get his wife and kid out of Mali.
Suddenly I knew what Jesus meant by "the least of these".
And I found it hard to know how to help. My three weeks in the pressure cooker were spent trying to maximize and prioritize resources and help where we could.
On Easter, I asked all the expats who were leaving in the coming days to bring all their extra clothes and bedding, and food they would need to get rid of from their fridges and freezers. We gathered a decent-sized impromptu offering for the brothers and sisters fleeing from the North. It was a great coming together of need and opportunity.
But that was just "the first pass". Two days later, I met a man who had fled with his family and left everything behind in the face of looting and persecution. I showed him where he could wash his clothes at our center, only to find out they just had the ones on their backs. I went back to my closet to see if I could maybe find something more for him.
Later that day, my refugee friend came just as I was doing the final cleaning out of my fridge. He got EVERYTHING else that was left, including some of the canned goods I was saving for when I came back.
But there are so many more who need help. My prayer is that the Malian Church can step and do its part sacrificially, and they are doing a good job so far. (Below: clothes and food collected by the Churches in Bamako) Do pray for them and those they are ministering to.
We who are now "out of Mali" will do what we can from afar. And then leave it all in the capable hand of Him who clothes the flowers and birds and you and me and the least of these.
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