Under the Acacia Tree

Psalm 139 is one of the most beautifully written of all the psalms. It describes the relationship between God and man, a personal and intimate view of a loving Creator. 

The writer describes God as being at the centre of his life. He talks to God in a natural way, as one would talk to a friend. A simple prayer, "check my heart, purify my soul, and keep me safe." Then with incredible insight he reveals something very personal and intimate.

"My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them."

As he considers the meaning and purpose of life, the psalmist begins to understand that his life is not an accident. He has been created for a special reason. The writer concludes that God is so familiar with his innermost being that there is nothing he can hide. There is no thought process that escapes His radar. 

The author's view of eternity is wrapped up in his own mortality. He acknowledges that he is "fearfully and wonderfully made", meaning that the very fact he exists is significant. It's just too much for his mind to conceive.

"For You formed my inward parts
You wove me in my mother’s womb

I am fearfully and wonderfully made."  

God knew everything about him before he was conceived. In fact God also knew the timing and purpose for his life. How extraordinary the following statement:

  

"O LORD, You have searched me and known me.

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You understand my thought from afar.

You scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.

Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O LORD, You know it all.

You have enclosed me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me."

The King of ancient Israel then tries to imagine places where God does not exist. Day or night makes no difference and remote spaces are irrelevant. There is no escaping the presence of God.

"If I go the heavens, you are there...if I make my bed in the depths of the sea or on the other side of the earth your right hand will hold me fast...If I make my bed in Sheol (Hell), even there Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will lay hold of me."

The end of this psalm is pertinent because it ends with prayer. The psalmist has discovered something quite overwhelming. There is no getting around it; the God of the universe is the One who defines his being, gives him life and purpose and is ever present with him.

"Search me God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

What strikes me the most is the humility of a King who acknowledges his humanity and his fears. He is committed to the renewal of his inner man as he lives in total dependance on God. 

Today's question is essentially the same, "Is there a place of such human neglect where God has removed himself? Is there a place where one could literally describe it as Hell on earth, a zone of such  pathos where even God has made His exit?

I once said that about a place called Dadaab. It is the largest refugee camp in the world, with nearly half a million souls living there. At the time it seemed like the most remote place on earth. I was white and therefore a Christian. I was called "Gaalo" or infidel, which meant my safety was compromised. How could God be in this place? 

The burning sun, the deplorable living conditions, people displaced by civil war, lawlessness, rampant disease and a distinct feeling of hopelessness was what made me ask, "where is God in all this?" Gradually it became clear to me, that God was there in an unusual place, the Acacia Tree.

At Dadaab

 life is pathos

on the edge of survival

under the brutal sun

hope is sucked dry

by the tyranny of time

life is fear

in Ifo, Hagaderra, Dagahaly

refugee families struggle to survive

on forty Kenyan shillings a day

nomads, scarred by cruel fate

life is degradation

women and children held captive

by chains of endless abuse

hunger, TB, HIV/Aids, death

daily reminders of a hopeless existence

life is desperation

no plan for tomorrow

relocation a dying dream

tears have all been shed

wells of promise are dry

yet ... under the acacia tree

life is precious

shade creates laughter and play

healing thrives in desert’s harshness

canopy deflects the burning ray

The acacia tree is the predominant image I have of the Kenyan sub-sahara. The Umbrella Thorn Acacia is one of the most recognizable trees of the African savanna. It grows in sand dunes and rocky grounds of Africa's grasslands. Acacias grow in areas with annual rainfall as low as 4 cm. This tree can survive in 140° F temperatures during the day as well as freezing temperatures at nights. 

One of the Umbrella Thorn's adaptations to hot and dry conditions is a deep taproot, which can reach 115 ft under the ground. This adaptation helps it get the water during the dry spells. A second set of roots spread out just under the ground about twice the area of the crown. The little leaves of the Umbrella Thorn prevent water loss. The acacia's umbrella like flat topped shape enable the tree to capture large amounts of sunlight with the smallest possible leaves. Its tiny green leaves are extremely nutritious. The thorns are used to keep the savanna animals away from eating the leaves, flowers, and seedpods. The only animal that is immune to the thorns is the giraffe.

The Acacia provides shade for the animals of the savanna. The trunk of the tree makes very good charcoal and firewood. The flowers on the Acacia provide a good source of honey in some regions. The stem of the tree is used to treat asthma, and diarrhea. The bark of the acacia is used as a disinfectant, and the pods are used to make porridge. Their strong trunks and flat crowns still support the nests of great eagles, while the thorn-studded vegetation is an excellent refuge for small songbirds. 

It was under an Acacia Tree in North East Province, Kenya that I first realized the magnificent power of this tree to offer life and healing. I had been teaching at Garissa High School the entire month of February 2004. At the same time I was researching the effects of HIV/Aids on Kenya’s school system.   I knew there were schools in Dadaab, the world's largest refugee camp created by the UNHCR.  At their invitation I spent a week in a place I can only describe as a zone of fear and instability. 

Now 25 years old with nearly a half million inhabitants this "city of thorns" is essentially an open prison in the desert. Those who arrive seldom leave this place. Dadaab is located in north east Kenya at the centre of the three refugee camps: Ifo, Dagahalley and Hagaderra. The camps which are home to 440,000 refugees, are spread over 60 sq km of semi-arid desert.  Most of the refugees came from the southern regions of Gedo and the Juba River Valley in Somalia. Some came all the way from Mogadishu, almost 1,000 km away.

The three camps were set up around the town of Dadaab beginning in 1991 when Siyad Barre’s regime collapsed and civil wars erupted in Somalia. Sixteen rival factions were involved. The wars, along with a prolonged drought, forced nearly one million Somalis to flee to neighboring countries. Nearly 400,000 of them, many of whom were in a serious state of exhaustion and starvation, took refuge in Kenya.

By any standards, this was not to be an ordinary bus trip. The scorching sun rose like a flame in the open sky. There was not a cloud to offer a brief solace from the burning rays. Twenty kilometers east of Garissa the paved highway narrowed to a hard packed one lane dirt roadway. In this desert region, barren but for a few acacia trees and thorny scrub brush, I observed numerous dried up river beds. Soils are sandy with little vegetation anywhere. The dry season persists throughout the year. Rainfall is rare and on the days it falls the seasonal rivers burst their banks and some roads become impassable.

A few Somalis were seen walking in different directions in search of water for their livestock. Somalis rely on animal products such as milk and meat. They keep camels, cattle, sheep and goats, moving from place to place looking for pastureland for their livestock. To them, their livestock is their livelihood and source of wealth. When the time comes for these nomads to migrate, they pack up all their belongings, including their houses. A house is a framework of bent poles, covered with panels of thatch and sheets of leather. The poles, coverings, household goods, milk gourds, water pots, pets and children are loaded onto a camel. Life goes on.

Three hours later we were at the half way point where the main roadway turns north to Wajir. More uninviting territory. How could anyone live here under these conditions? We were heading through the southern part of the Lorien Swamp towards Hagadera. Only three hours now until we reached our destination.

Dirt road gave way to loose sand. Tires were spinning and the back end of the bus was constantly weaving. As long as the bus kept moving forward we would make it on this one lane desert highway. What we did not know was that there was another bus destined for Wajir coming towards us. Each driver was aware of the other. Neither was willing to stop or move aside. I was in the front seat and could clearly see what was happening. This was serious. Why was the driver so oblivious to imminent danger? Perhaps it was the fact that he had been chewing for the past two hours on pieces of raw sugar cane and leaves of khat. At this point the two vehicles were fifty meters apart, still heading on a collision course. This was clearly a game of “chicken”, Kenyan style. At the last possible moment the buses veered away from each other. No one else seemed too concerned, I suppose the locals just get used to this kind of erratic driving.

We were just outside Hagadera; an hour more and we would be in Dadaab. People appeared out of nowhere. Despite the fact there was no bus schedule, they knew exactly when our bus would arrive. The moment we stopped we were besieged by dozens of Somali women attempting to sell 2 litre plastic containers filled with camel milk. Covered in the traditional hijab scarf and colourful muslim dress, a few revealed only their eyes through a small slit in the headdress. It was their eyes that gripped me the most. Mournful, desperate, these eyes did not mask the pain of a soul living on the edge of survival. I felt like a voyeur, drawn into their world for a brief moment.

I wondered if those soft, sorrowful eyes were capable of shedding another tear. I will always be haunted by this scene. How can these people survive in a world where I would only last a day? It is here in the middle of the desert where people cry out for a drop of rain and a few shillings to keep themselves alive. Why am I so fortunate, why am I so blest? Why was I born in “western affluence” instead of this place of acute poverty? The truth of the matter is this. It’s only God’s grace that even allows me to write of these things. I am no more deserving than any other human being on the face of this planet. 

Visually, the camps form a patchwork of different kinds of shelter, as people from the same nationality cluster together. The Somali dwellings are mostly round turkuls with cardboard and blue plastic United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) sheeting to cover the frame, which is made out of long thin sticks that are bent and tied. The Sudanese have mud and wattle huts and furniture that is made from bound sticks. They usually have a bit of a courtyard. The few Ugandans have fenced plots with vegetables growing and mud fish hanging out to dry. The Ethiopians also have fenced-off, locked properties with mud and wattle homes which are decorated with posters or Orthodox icons.

Most of the young people in town had gathered around a TV Bar to watch the highly anticipated football match between Manchester United and Arsenal. As we walked to our secure compound, I wondered how safe two “mzungus” or white men would be.   Two children took one look at us and ran in the other direction shouting, “American, American!” Within a minute there were fifty others surrounding us. Many indicated they were hungry and asked us for money. I was warned not to give any.

Young men, if they are not herding goats or minding the camels, find that time hangs heavy. They stand around, hands on hips, one leg thrust out, waiting for something to happen. As one observer noted: “You must be ready to rumble. Not that you will, but you must look like nothing is getting past you.” Young men also see themselves as obligated to monitor the women’s activities.

I had always dreamed of seeing the famous “southern cross” constellation which has been heralded in literature and history as the compass of the southern hemisphere. It was at 2am I marveled at the simple design of these stars, reminding me of the simplicity and power of the Cross of Jesus Christ. Later that night I awoke to a disturbance in my sleeping quarters. There was only a thin mosquito net separating me from a rather large and frightened bat. I began to speak softly to this strange creature, quietly providing it with directions for its escape. After five minutes it disappeared into the night air. Perhaps that nocturnal visitor had devoured the mosquito that had designs on siphoning my blood. There are times in Africa when a good night’s sleep is an oxymoron.

I was invited to take part in a conference for educators put on by the UNHCR. Thirty school administrators were gathering for a workshop in this US built school. The topic was “peace education”.  This is a separate subject taught in the schools at all grades, and it includes conflict resolution and strategies to solve disagreements.  

At the end of the discussion period we walked a short distance to the Dadaab International Hotel. This one story dwelling was made of sticks, mud and burlap. There was room for twenty guests to sleep in a one room dirt floor.   Males slept apart from females, a burlap type curtain separating them. A wood fire was heating the food in a side room. Smoke pervaded the largest area, a gathering place where customers sat eating around six tables. Our meal consisted of pasta and chicken with a Coke to drink. The most amazing scene in the room was a 4X6 ft poster of the Toronto harbourfront, complete with CN Tower and Skydome.  I felt right at home!

People have constructed their own dwellings in the traditional manner, using sticks, trees, mud and coverings of burlap, plastic and any other material available.   They are living in small dwellings in close proximity to each other. Many of the homes in Dadaab were surrounded by “live fencing” -- transplanted thorn bushes that make a good substitute for razor wire fencing. In a place where security is a major problem, the people try to establish some safety for themselves. The camps are in a remote, mainly unoccupied land that is hard to police. This, and their proximity to the Somali border where arms can easily be imported, makes them prime targets for bandits.

Women are especially vulnerable because they must venture outside the camp in search of wood to keep their cooking fires burning. As the years have gone by and areas close to the camp have become deforested, women walk farther and farther away to locate wood.   At times up to twenty kilometers from home, they are in danger of being assaulted by roving bandits.   At night, violence often stalks the camp itself. Despite the banning of weapons, many of the refugees have guns and fights break out among the different groups. Even the police have been afraid to go into the camps at night.

Women continue to bear much of the responsibility for maintaining camp life. They collect water from the well, care for the children, gather firewood, watch out for poisonous snakes, and prepare meals. In fact, the life of women is very hard. Young women do much the same work as their mothers, and many teenagers are married, often to older men. In recent years, as the hope of repatriation has dimmed, people have begun to get involved in community development efforts. More women and girls are becoming aware of the importance of participating in programs for their own benefit. These include a range of income-producing activities in various crafts such as weaving, with basic materials purchased through a revolving community loan scheme.

The organization CARE is in charge of the food that is distributed twice a month, while MSF is in charge of medical relief with therapeutic and supplementary feeding. Small markets have been established within the camps where surplus dry food rations from CARE can be exchanged for camel – and sometimes goat – meat and fresh vegetables. Tailors and barbers ply their trades. Educated townspeople who can speak English (primarily Ethiopians) volunteer their services to the UN, CARE and MSF. Others work as laborers for the aid agencies. An Arabic school was started; CARE began to run schools for non-Muslims; a mosque was built; the Ethiopians built an Orthodox church. The market became the congregating point for the men, most of whom have little to do. Older men sit around, talk, and chew miraa – a mild stimulant that is chewed with gum.

Schools, hospitals and food distribution centres are available in this heavily armed area.    The UN World Food Program (WFP) distributes three kg of yellow maize per refugee every 15 days. There is no visible malnutrition, but many refugees complain that there is not enough to go around. Within the camp, the general hardships of day-to-day life adds to the tension.

Business enterprise is evident and some who are more prosperous depend on money sent from relatives who already have been granted refugee status overseas.   

Life is dangerous for women and children and despite all that the UN has accomplished in Dadaab, there remains a fear that life for some will never change for some.  Families live in hope that Canada and other nations will allow them entry. They refuse to leave for their homes in Somalia, Sudan, Ethiopia and the Congo.  There are people whose daily nutrition level is unacceptable and who gradually are starving.  The poorest families live on less than 50 Kenyan shillings ($1Cdn) a day. They suffer from the heat and they face the tyranny of poverty in ways we cannot imagine.

Strong anti-rape groups are also at work in the camps. The UNHCR continues an active campaign against the practice of FGM (female genital mutilation). The program focuses on personal and social counseling, as well as physical security. Sophia Sheik Omar, a Canadian from Toronto was seconded by the UNHCR to a one year contract to serve in the refugee camps. She worked in schools, hospitals and in the field to counsel and save at least some who might otherwise undergo this terrible abuse in their early years. 

To handle problems like violence against women, organizations like FilmAid, in partnership with the Danish Refugee Council (DRC), have mobilized with agencies such as UN Refugee Agencies (UNHCR), National Council for the Churches of Kenya (NCCK), The Department of Refugee Affairs (DRA), Handicap International (HI), Refugee Consortium of Kenya (RCK), Centre for Victims of Torture (CVT), CARE and Save the Children.

HIV/Aids is prevalent and the crisis is growing.  The Islamic culture does not acknowledge this disease and people do not deal with the problem.  Women have been alienated from the community, forced to die of starvation alone in a shelter far removed from the others.  

When you visit Daadab refugee camp, you will see people who are severely handicapped, some due to injuries they received while fleeing their war torn countries; others were paralyzed by polio due to lack of immunization. Still others were born handicapped. Handicapped refugees can, at time, go unnoticed due to their immobility, but in “Door to door” campaigns by Handicapped International, volunteers try to identify the handicapped and help by giving them wheelchairs and food, taking them to school and assisting with other necessary requirements of life.

In the fall of 2011 two volunteers from Spain who joined MSF's mission at Ifo Camp were were kidnapped by terrorists and held for ransom. The immediate reaction by aid agencies was top suspend their activities. The people who made it their life's work to assist refugees in Dadaab were now leaving in droves. And this at a time when over 400,000 refugees depended on their service. Dadaab is now considered a dangerous place for any foreigner and only those who under heavy armed guard are working there now.

A number of elementary and secondary schools have been built by the UNHCR. Using Kenyan teachers and national curriculum, students are able to attend school and complete their KCSE (Kenya Certificate for Secondary Education). I spoke with a number of students about what they saw their future to be.

Abdi Hashi was in his final year of school. Born in the camps, he had seen nothing else. Through television he had discovered the world and knew that he wanted more. There were always stories of the others, refugees that had ended up in Minneapolis/St. Paul, Rome, Copenhagen or Toronto. He asked me about Canada and if there was any hope of him ever living there. Abdi’s family was wiped out during the civil wars in Somalia. His mother had recently succumbed to tuberculosis. “Even with my KCSE, what good is it? I’ll never escape the camps.” The only response I could offer was that he must never give up hope. Only a miracle will change life for Abdi. For now he is imprisoned by the live fencing that surrounds the Dadaab camps.

Although UNHCR mounts periodic attempts at repatriation, these have not been very successful among the Somalis. Armed clashes among clan militia in southern Somalia have prevented the refugees’ return. Furthermore, their chances of going to other countries are slim. Although resettlement applications to third countries (such as the United States and Australia) have been made, very few have been accepted. 

Virtually all the refugees I spoke to in Dadaab expressed their wish to leave the camps. Most indicated that returning home to Somalia would not be possible anytime soon. However in late 2015 there was something new happening - a reversal in the flow of somalis with hundreds heading east to the somali border. 

During the week I was in Dadaab I was overwhelmed by images of poverty and human suffering. Yet, one image stood above the rest. It was the acacia tree at the edge of the Dagahalley Camp.  It was the largest I had seen in Africa, standing some sixty feet in height. This acacia was a beauty, a supreme work of art with a flat top canopy covering a circumference of some 200 feet. I saw some twenty children playing with pieces of red dirt under this remarkable tree that had cast a shadow of at least a thousand square feet.  

In the midst of this living hell, at the edge of a human disaster, there were children celebrating life. One boy had climbed half way up the tree, his bare feet somehow evading the wicked attacks from ugly sharp thorns. His laughter said it all. Under the acacia tree he could be himself. In the heat of the day there was shade to play in, a respite from a dangerous environment. Like a lighthouse, this sentry stood tall, a symbol of safety and hope. In its shadow there was hope, in its deep tap root was life and stability and in it’s canopy was a resting place.

I began to pray for the children, for a future where they could experience a life of dignity and freedom. A life where they would have opportunities to go to school, free from the ravages of war, famine, poverty and disease. It was here, under the Acacia tree I sensed God's presence. I saw these young ones happy as they played in the shadow of the tree. This was indeed God’s gift, placing an acacia tree right where it was needed.

The children saw me watching them. They ran to see me, some even wanted to touch me. Each one received a Canadian flag pin. To show them how, I pinned one on the shirt of the oldest boy. The last image I have is the boys running after our jeep. Their eyes sparkled and danced as they waved goodbye. And just behind them, growing steadily smaller against the desert backdrop stood the acacia tree.