An African, a New Box, and a Little Cash

I work with many Africans who are middle-class by their own standards, but desperately poor by mine. So when building relationships across cultural and socioeconomic barriers, I know I constantly risk a veiled appeal for my cash. In Zambia (2010), I came only to teach, but by the end I had a small catalogue of the Zambians’ ministry proposals that only needed a bit of startup money. In one case, a mere 120 grand for facilities, salaries, and SUVs would suffice. Other times, the needs are humbler and more urgent and my new friends are not afraid to ask.

As much as I want to say, “No! No! I’m just a poor missionary!” I know it’s not true. I have money in the bank. But I choose not to give because money is emotional for me. There are a million reasons in my heart for me NOT to give to those who ask. MAINLY, the fear of losing a relationship because of money and the fear of being taken advantage of are constantly with me in my nervous relationship with poverty. And yes, the irony of being a support-raiser who is terrified of giving support has not escaped me.

Late the other night, an African friend and I exchanged a volley of texts, which embodied all my fears about working across economic lines. His father was in the hospital in Africa with pneumonia. The doctors would not authorize the medications without proof of funds. He desperately needed to borrow some money. Would I help?

My stomach churned. My emotions raged. What could I say to my friend? I felt trapped in a no win scenario:

Option 1: Lend the money. If he fails to pay it back, harbor resentment. Relationship ends.

Option 2: Give the money. Risk appearing as if the action were manipulated. Risk future appeals. Risk being taken advantage of. Risk enabling a paternalistic relationship. If I find out the situation was not as urgent as he made it appear, harbor bitterness. Relationship ends.

Option 3: Withhold the money. Show concern, offer to pray, talk through other options, but don’t allow money to change hands.

I went with my gut. I opted for #3. I said I didn’t want money to corrupt our friendship, but said I wanted to pray about it more and process it with him later. Then I went back to watching TV. A quick volley of responses revealed his attitude descending from gracious understanding into alienation. He finally texted, “In my culture, after what just happened between us, we can no longer continue to be friends. If I cannot count on you when my father is sick, I cannot count on you when all is well.” Game over.

I was angry. Hurt. In my culture, the friendship ended the moment he asked for money. A wall went up in my heart. I suddenly felt as if our relationship was contingent on my giving. For me that’s not a far cry from being valued only for my money. I know this is not the case, but the conclusion seemed a jumpable one at the time.

The next morning I DID pray about it. God showed me an image of my friend’s sick father… not an emaciated caricature desperate for my life-saving dollars, but an ordinary man who could really use some help to get his meds. God seemed to shrug his shoulders at me as if to say, “why not help this man?” It wasn’t shame or condemnation. Just a gentle shrug that said, “is the money really that big a deal?”

No, the money is not a big deal. But the relationship is. I felt that any financial transaction would short-circuit my friendship. Again, God shrugged. “Yeah, it’s messy,” he seemed to say. “Is that okay with you?”

Is it okay with me? That’s the question. I decided then that I was willing to do messy, that I would give the money, and that if the integrity of our friendship was compromised because of it, that was an acceptable risk. A few verses came to mind:

“Freely it was given you. So give freely.”
“When you lend money, don’t expect anything in return”
“If someone asks for your jacket, give him your shirt too.”

My friend and I talked at length that morning on the phone and again two days later over breakfast. I shared my frustration and alienation with the way he shut down communication with me over text, the way he jumped to conclusions and judged me based on his own cultural assumptions. He shared some of his own frustrations with me as well.

“I wasn’t saying we could not be friends. But I was saying that I’m not interested in the kind of friendship that stops at money. I don’t want you to just ‘pray about it.’ I want you to help me when you can and I will help you when I can. I know we have a difficult cross-cultural friendship and that money is a sensitive issue, but I also felt that we were close enough that we could talk through those things together.”

But in my mind we were NOT that close. Underneath the amazing rapport we had achieved in 4 meetings was still a basic tension, a mistrust that at some point, this African man would disappoint me. As in all my cross-cultural friendships, there was a walking on eggshells that comes from not knowing the rules, not knowing when you might trigger a land mine, when your boundaries might be crossed.

The behavior of other cultures has at times been so mystifying to me that I’ve kept all my cross-cultural friendship at arms length. It’s not antagonistic racism, but a real fear of the unknown, and a sense that these relationships will be painful if I dive too deep. But here was a man who for the first time in my life was asking for a genuinely mutual, genuinely deep cross-cultural friendship and honestly I don’t have a box for that. But I WANT it.

I’m not happy with the American mold of friendship: low expectations, great relational fluidity, strong boundaries, slow trust-building. I have an African heart inside of me that wants to give and receive liberally, to feel relationships are secure and assumed, to be able to count on my friends and to have them count on me. But in this culture, I feel like Seinfeld’s Kramer, barging into other peoples’ spaces, opening the fridge, oblivious to the rules of engagement and being uncomfortably tolerated as a quirky individual.

I think my friend has a more biblical view of relationships than I do. The cultural context in which the bible was written is much closer to modern Africa than to middle-class America. Believers are constantly relying on each other for basic survival. The New Testament church community was interdependent, not individualistic.  If I have the cash and a brother in need. Why wouldn’t I help him? It may or may not be the most urgent need out there, but what does it matter? And if my African brother uses my money (which really isn’t mine at all) for something other than his father’s medications, how will I feel? Betrayed? Taken advantage of? Maybe. But does it really matter? Is it worth the risk? I mean if I thought giving would harm him, I wouldn’t do it! But I know this person well enough to know that he’s asking for what he needs, not manipulating me.

So I gave him what he asked for. More, in fact. I feared I was committing relational suicide even by giving him the money. I feared our communications would become stilted and uncomfortable. But something different happened. It broke a dam (not the money, but the whole situation) in our relationship and paved the way to open communication. We began to have open conflict with each other and I think we are both surprised to find that the other party keeps coming back to the table. I’m learning my friend can handle my bluntness and that he is willing to return the favor. And THAT new openness gives me tremendous hope for our friendship.

I accept that while his request for financial help was taboo for me, it was a normal part of relationship for him. And if I hope to be effective in relationship and ministry in Africa, that’s the first thing I’m going to have to grapple with. I’ll have to address my fear that if I give what I have, I won’t have enough for myself or my family. I’ll have to address my trust issues in these relationships and my fear of being used, chewed up, and spit out. I’ll still have to be shrewd. But I’ll also have to be willing to be messy, to speak openly, to give trust, to love deeply.

I’m a bit poorer now than I was. But I’m happy, hopeful, and growing. I think my friend and I have just BEGUN our friendship.