Dodgeball Camp

This was our third summer at Dodgeball Camp, and probably our last one for quite awhile, as I doubt there is Dodgeball Camp in Zambia. But, as our date for departure approaches, it felt important to have one last family time at our favorite campground, which offers not only Dodgeball, but Pudding Slip and Slides, Candy Cannons,  Dangling Donuts, Glowstick Parades, Wet and Wild Wagon Rides, Face Painting, Rock Painting, and all the normal fun camping stuff, like swimming, campfires, and s'mores. It is a crazy camp, with different fun and totally ridiculous children's activities every hour or so.

As I was enjoying Dodgeball Camp, watching candy literally rain from the sky during the Candy Canon, I was also reading The Unheard: A Memoir of Deafness and Africa by Josh Swiller, which takes place in the mid-90s in Zambia. Swiller was a Peace Corps volunteer in Mununga, a village on the shores of Lake Mweru. I am almost done with the book, and its images wreaked havoc with my mind, as I watched overfed children eat donuts off a dangling rope, faces covered in powdered sugar.

In Swiller's memoir, two-year old twins starve to death, as their mother watches helplessly. In Swiller's memoir, a ten year old boy lays on the floor of a hut, slowing dying from meningitis. In Swiller's memoir, three or four children die in the village every day during rainy season, victims of malaria. In Swiller's memoir, the clinic pharmacy is a "small, windowless room no bigger than a hot tub...There were three long shelves of drugs and vitamins, mostly aspirin, and a crate of condoms covered in dust - this was the total pharmaceutical supply for about fifty thousand people." And so, people die, because there is not enough food, there is not enough medicine, there is not enough clean water. Swiller tells the story of a strong, vibrant, loving people, for whom death, hunger, and disease are constant companions.

In many ways, there are reasons to be hopeful as we prepare to do health ministry in Zambia. This memoir reflects a Zambia that existed 18 years ago; since then there have been significant developments in health. According to the World Health Organization, the total expenditure on health in Zambia has more than doubled since 1995, the under-5 mortality rate has decreased significantly, and there is a slight improvement in the percentage of people accessing clean water. At the same time, the horrifying realities that Swiller describes are still lived, day-to-day realities for many people: disease, hunger, death. In the rainy season, children die of malaria; as a matter of fact, it causes more deaths that HIV. The probability of having your child die before the age of 5 years old is 141 in 1000.  And the life expectancy in Zambia is 39 years old. These realities are hard for us to imagine, and yet, they are inescapable for many people.

As I watched my children enjoy being very spoiled at an extravagant camp, I questioned my decision to bring them to this camp again. Why should they be allowed to slip and slide through chocolate pudding, while other children have to choose between stealing and starving? And then, I consider that pretty soon, they will move to a completely different country, where they will face significant challenges. They will have trouble understanding the culture, the language, their new friends. They are leaving their home, their grandparents, their cousins, their school, their dog, everything that is familiar to them. Should I let them have this one last weekend at a camp that they love?

I don't think there are clear answers for those of us who live lives of privilege. We do make choices that affect whether other people live and die; when we spend money on ourselves, it is money that we could invest in mosquito nets or HIV/AIDS programs. When we choose an expensive vacation, we are choosing not to send those funds to assist in maternal health. At the same time, God did not create us to live lives of guilt and self-loathing. God wants us all to experience joy and fun. And so, we are left with questions. How much should I spend on myself and my children, and how much should I give away? What do I do with my privilege, and how can God use me to transform the world?

I don't have good answers to the questions, and even as I prepare to move to Zambia, I still face a lot of guilt and confusion. Do I really need to buy a nice, new camera before we move? Do we truly need fancy pots and pans in our Lusaka kitchen? These are questions that will not leave us, and they are important questions to ask. What lines are we willing to draw? What are we willing to give up? Where can we give more, and take less?

We really did love Dodgeball Camp, and I am glad we went. But I will also take the money that we spent on that camp, and donate the same amount of money to an organization helping hungry children. That is one way that I can reconcile my spending; one answer that works for me. What answers work for you?