What I Learned About Buying Local In A Third World Country

Local charcoal sellers. Just not the right ones.

I've traveled to Haiti twice on short-term missions trips, part of a Christian non-profit organization working to establish post-secondary, Bible-based computer training schools. Each time I traveled with a friend from America to the north coast city of Cap-Haitien, home to more than 300,000 people.

Just a two-hour flight from the American wealth and comfort of Ft. Lauderdale or Miami, Fla., flying into Cap-Haitian is akin to dropping off the end of the world. The poverty is mind-blowing, the city nothing short of an intense experience of sights, sounds and smells.

From the sky as you descend the horizon is filled with thin columns of smoke rising from the countryside that's home to innumerable crude, tin-roof homes. Alongside the airport runway is a collection of wrecked, inoperable airplanes. It's not exactly the type of welcome you'd expect from the Cap-Haitien Chamber of Commerce. When you step out of the plane, you're hit with a blast of heat and humidity and you have to get used to sweating because you've pretty much left air conditioning behind.

Everywhere you go in the city you'll find the charm of colorful French colonial architecture reminiscent of the French Quarter in New Orleans. Yet the streets are often lined with garbage and everywhere is the pervasive aroma of smoke -- fire is used to cook food in homes and along the streets and burn trash in smoldering heaps -- mixed with the combination of rotting refuse and sewage. And always the streets are filled with people. Extraordinary amounts of people clogging the sidewalks and spilling into the road. It's a very young collection of people -- 55 percent of the population is under the age of 25 -- and a very poor collection of people where 80 percent of them live in poverty and more than half live in abject poverty.

Vendors line the streets and jam the alleys, selling all manner of clothes, shoes, food, medicines, household cleaning products, soaps, shampoos and everything else. It's like a roofless Wal-Mart Supercenter -- Haitian-style -- everywhere you go. And they sell charcoal. Lots of charcoal.

Haiti has largely been stripped of its trees, hacked down and burned to charcoal that fuels the fires used to cook the food that attempts rather futilely to feed the 10 million Haitians. It's an environmental disaster, but in a country where electricity is basically a luxury -- a very undependable one at that -- fire and the charcoal to produce those flames is absolutely essential.

Largely like fuel in America, charcoal is a commodity that is central to the local economy. There are  fuel stations, but supply can be sketchy, it's almost a luxury in the impoverished nation and you have to get used to seeing guards armed with automatic rifles and shotguns guarding the pumps against thieves.

Each time I've been to Haiti I've had the privilege of being hosted by the same friend, a dear Haitian man who is kind, generous, gracious and everything you'd want in a host. I've stayed with local families and experienced first-hand Haitian life in what I'd call a middle-class setting. Check out this video I shot and edited: Life in Haiti

On my last trip to Haiti, one afternoon the house we were staying at on the edge of the city was short of charcoal. So my friend offered to go buy some. I figured it was a short trip into the city to one of the ubiquitous roadside purveyors to secure a big bag of charcoal. I was wrong. As we journeyed ever farther into the Haitian countryside to find the right charcoal, I learned three things about what it means to truly buy local. And I think the lessons I learned on that day apply to the American ideal of buying local.

1) It's about relationship: Buying charcoal in Haiti should be easy. It's everywhere in the city. Buying charcoal from vendors lining the streets is as simple as buying food in America, whether it's a grocery store, restaurant or convenience store. If you have even a little bit of money you won't go hungry in America -- although you very likely won't be eating nutritious food. But on this particular day we were on a mission. We were going hard-core local charcoal buying.

We traveled probably an hour-and-a-half or more deep into the Haitian countryside for our charcoal. I was seeing signs for the Dominican Republic, that's how far we went. It's like driving 90 minutes to a 7-Eleven for a hot dog and passing dozens of 7-Elevens along the way. We drove past charcoal sellers at road junctions, past them in the town of Limonade, past them in no-man's land on the highway. Somewhere just west of the Dominican Republic we stopped on the road. Down a long driveway I saw a cinder block house with a tin roof, pretty much like a thousand other cinder block houses with a tin roof we passed on the drive.

Our host made a quick phone call. Down the driveway came some women and young kids trundling charcoal crammed into bags like you'd find at Home Depot loaded with 50 lbs. of grass seed. In went two and then three bags of charcoal, along with ants and other bugs on the bags. There were exchanges of warm greetings, the exchange of Haitian money and then the women and kids peered into the SUV I was riding in, apparently awed and humored by the sight of a couple of white guys -- me and my American friend I was traveling with.

After some more small talk we headed back to our home in Cap-Haitien. Past the women and children washing clothes in the muddy river, over the speed bumps that appeared out of nowhere in the road, past the droves of people waiting for rides along the road, past the myriad charcoal sellers, past the naked man with no legs next to an overturned wheelchair. (We passed him both ways. The first time I asked if we should stop and help him. No response. On the way back again I inquired about him and my host gave us the indication the man was crazy and we continued on. Some things from Haiti you never forget. And will never understand.)

I never got the full story of why we went so far for our charcoal. I can only surmise that it was extremely high-quality charcoal sold by people very dear to our host. Or maybe it was just your average charcoal sold by people very dear to our host. Whatever the case, it was very important to him that we get that charcoal from those people. It was about the relationship and about how much it meant to that family. Our trip probably meant they'd eat fairly well for a while. In a world of Amazon and Jet.com and Wal-Mart, there's a lot to be said for supporting the local economy. Whether it's the family-run business in your town or in the Haitian outback.

2) It's about determination. As you read in the previous paragraphs, our charcoal-buying venture was quite the journey. It took determination. It took resolve. Obviously it cost extra. But the final result is that our host was happy, an entire family supplying the charcoal was happy and the people we delivered the charcoal to were happy. Everybody wins. That's the way it should be, even if it requires a little more time, effort and money.

3) It's about the trickle-down effect. A family way out in the Haitian countryside suddenly had money. The kids we saw were literally dressed in rags. They were dirty. The house was primitive. But that family suddenly had an infusion of cash. They could buy food from someone out there in similar circumstances. Or catch a ride from one of the "tap-tap" drivers passing by on the highway looking for customers. Or buy a shirt for a kid. Or whatever. The point is that in a place of desperation there was a glimmer of hope. Things got a little better. I wrote before that some things in Haiti you never forget. One thing I'll never forget is being hot, sweaty and confused, but pulling away from a house in the middle-of-nowhere Haiti and waving to a group of smiling and laughing women and children. With an SUV full of charcoal.

A Time To Reflect, A Time For Thanks

It is officially Christmas Day, 2015. It's somewhere the other side of midnight and things are out of whack -- outside at least. It's a warm, steamy night in Virginia. Thick clouds obscure the full moon and stars that are up there somewhere and the windows are open and the ceiling fans are humming. And still it's hot in here. I refuse to turn on the AC. It's late December. That's ridiculous. Even if it means I can't sleep because I'm too hot.

But the other side of being sleepless in Gloucester is that the kids are all in bed, the house is quiet, the Christmas tree is lit up and the presents are spilling out from beneath it. It's like this every year for me, these nights that by the light of the Christmas tree I take a few moments to reflect on my life over the past year.

I'm not going to lie. It's been a hard stretch in many ways going back the past 14 months or so. The thing that comes to mind first is two miscarriages. Two blessings we've missed out on. Our babies give us so much joy as a family, there's an excitement and an anticipation that builds through the pregnancy. There's a sense of wonder with the little kids when we bring home a new baby. For so many years we've celebrated another birth, welcoming a new baby brother or sister so routinely it's become a part of the fabric of our lives. There's always been another baby and those days are drawing to a close. Or maybe they have drawn to a close. Either way, I miss them.

I've had some ongoing health issues over the past year that doctors can't quite figure out and on some really rough, painful nights I've trundled 2-year-old Seth into our bed. I like to listen to him breathe and I put my head right up against his soft cheek. He's a snuggler and he'll burrow into me and for a little while I forget what's ailing me. He comforts me the way our babies always have. There's been many nights when it's me and a baby in my arms in a darkened house and listening to those fast, little breaths, feeling that skin like cotton and smelling that new baby smell and everything is alright in the world.

My work as a missionary ended earlier this year and it's just ... I don't know how else to describe it other than painful. I was unable to raise enough support to continue as a missionary working with an organization that launches Bible-teaching schools in Africa and Haiti. The cold, hard truth is that I wasn't any good at asking people for money. It's a flaw of mine where I pretty much stink at asking for help. I don't like goodbyes either but that's another flaw, another story. The missions organization I was with is doing work that changes lives and offers hope both spiritually and economically to downtrodden young people and I loved being a part of it. The people in the organization are wonderful and they're doing great work. I've seen and met many people whose lives have been changed through it. It feels like failure to leave it behind. It's hard. I don't really know how else to put it.

I'm extremely thankful and grateful for the work I'm doing now and the opportunity some friends of mine here in Gloucester gave me to work with their PR & marketing firm after leaving the missions work. It's a huge blessing and I really believe we're doing great work. But it's just one of those things I wrestle with, where my heart is to spread the gospel and to elevate lives and I was a part of that ... until I wasn't. It's an ongoing conversation I have with God, wondering what it's all about and why. But learning to trust in His plan when life doesn't make sense is essential Christian living. A Christian is believing -- knowing -- God has something else afoot and is waiting. Always waiting as it says in the book of Hosea, to wait on our God continually. Always expecting. Always ready. The life of a follower of Christ is gripping the faith to take the next step when you don't know where that foot will land but taking it anyway. I'm learning it. I'm working at it.

But in so many ways these are all such little, trivial things. This past weekend at Taylor's wedding affirmed what a gift I have with my family. My kids all love Jesus. That's a blessing. We're happiest when we're all together and my kids are patient, kind and loving to each other and they love to be with Julie and me, even the older ones. Sadly, that seems all too rare in this culture.

In a few hours the kids will all be up. The little kids will frantically be trying to get the older ones out of bed and we'll gather in the living room in our pajamas. The kids will pass around the presents under the Christmas tree, many of which they got for each other and we'll take turns opening them. I'll fix my traditional seafood chowder and I'm thinking it will be so nice outside that maybe we'll walk down to the beach. We'll have the whole day together. That's the best part. Really it's the only part that matters.

On A Night In Haiti When God Prevailed

Waterfront living in Haiti

It was one of those nights in Haiti where the heat was relentless. It's a long, suffocating heat that would leave me drenched in sweat and exhausted. I waited in vain for a breeze; even the slightest, gentlest stirring of the air to offer even a token amount of relief.

Instead all I got was fear.

Even today, more than three years later, I don't know how to explain it. It's a fear I could feel, the distinct and inescapable understanding that evil was in my presence and, in the simplest of terms, that something very bad was taking place. Except for the fact that I was alone in the small bedroom, save for a fellow missionary sleeping soundly nearby, oblivious apparently to the unceasing heat and the evil hovering among us.

I would later learn from our generous hosts that the rural, hillside cinder block home we were staying in had been built in a neighborhood of occupied by at least nine witch doctors who plied voodoo and, I would surmise, did not much care for the American missionaries carrying the hope of the gospel to a people in desperate need and the hearts to elevate lives.

As I lay sweating and succumbing to whatever force enveloped me, the fear welled up to the point that I remember my breathing became labored. I remember distinctly feeling like my lungs and heart were being squeezed. I was convinced I was not going to leave Haiti alive and the only way I would depart would be in a coffin. Whether it was delirium, or some sort of vision, or some other supernatural occurrence such as spiritual warfare, I can't be sure. I do know that I've never been more scared in my life.

I think about that night frequently. It is seared into my memory. Certain events in life we carry with us and they arise frequently out of the millions of memories of our past. Many bring us a smile, some may bring sadness, others a laugh.

This memory of that night in Haiti brings an understanding to me. It's a knowledge beyond something I know in my mind, like a fact I can recite. It's an intimate understanding of the power of God, of His love for me. Because in the depths of my fear, in a dark place of seemingly inescapable evil, I came to an understanding of who God is and how He cares for me.

I prayed for relief from the enveloping fear. As I prayed I felt compelled to reach underneath my bed and fetch my Bible. By the light of my cell phone I opened to Psalm 62 and read these words:
"Truly my soul silently waits for God;
From Him comes my salvation.
He only is my rock and my salvation;
He is my defense;
I shall not be greatly moved."

As I read the whole Psalm a peace washed over me. It wasn't instantaneous, but more like having something very heavy slowly lifted off my chest. It was, I believed, good overcoming evil. It was love prevailing. It was true power exercising its might and conquering evil on behalf of a wounded man. My circumstances didn't change. The heat didn't relent, the dark night remained, the voodoo practitioners were still nearby.

What changed was my focus was taken off my circumstances and my fear and on to the God who sent His beloved Son to die for me. Fear takes prisoners. God frees lives. God is my shelter and defense fighting on my behalf; I'm never going it alone.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is John 14:27. In the verse Jesus gives a promise and says simply, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

I know that peace intimately. I encountered it on a suffocating night on a hill in a Haiti village, where a darkness of profound fear was overcome by the illuminating light of God's overpowering love, spoken to me through words that are as alive to me today as they were to the Psalmist thousands of years ago.

Of Words and Soccer Balls

We had traveled somewhere around five hours across the searing semi-arid desert of northeastern Nigeria, timing our journey to beat the crowds pouring out of mosques on Friday afternoon prayers. That's because, in all honesty, as an American it's better to keep a low-profile on Friday afternoons in the vast swath of Muslim-dominated northeastern Nigeria where Boko Haram is known to operate. Through villages we dodged kids and livestock, stopping for lunch at a roadside food stand where we picked up two women and a child who squeezed into the back seat of our SUV for a lift to town.

At our "picnic table" beneath a fraying tarp, slender young boys hovered around us, smiling and hungrily eyeing our lunches of boiled fish and rice. I left some of the rice and fish on my plate and as I headed to our SUV watched the little boys pick up our plates, only to have them commandeered by older boys who had swooped in. My last sight of our roadside eatery was a group of teens wolfing down the scraps as the little boys watched. 

To continue, go here: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/words-soccer-balls-matt-sabo?trk=hp-feed-article-title-publish

My Eye-Opening Experience At A Nigerian Boarding School

Doing the wash at a Nigerian boarding school.

I wanted to share a link to a post I wrote for my missions work over on another blog I've launched with the Transformational Education Network. It's an inside look at my eye-opening experience at a Nigerian boarding school. It was one of those experiences I will never forget. It's something I believe can be a call to action for those of us who follow Jesus Christ.

Check it out here: Boarding school

A Transformational Thanksgiving in Nigeria

It is the wee hours of Thanksgiving in America, but here at 7:30 a.m. Jos, Nigeria, I am chugging a bottle of “F.A.M. Vita” vanilla yoghurt in a dark guest house room without power. The pervasive, acrid smell of campfire smoke – people still cook with fire here and you can drive down the street and see garbage burning – lingers with me, as always. Outside my open window I can hear the noise of the bustling city: cars and three-wheel motorized buggies zipping down the street, horns honking, people talking and someone on an air horn announcing something. I am thankful.

I am here on a mission trip with the Transformational Education Network. I have traveled with our CEO, Joe Gallop, who presented at a symposium yesterday and discussed technology and transformational education. More than 100 educators and students attended and both Joe and I are very pleased with how things went. The Lord truly blessed it and I met a young man with a communications degree who I hope will help me with gathering photos, video and stories from here in Jos at the school we partner with, E.I.C.T. that I can use in my TEN3 communications.
 
Today we will be attending a workshop where Joe will speak on “Essential Values in Transformational Education.” It’s the first of a two-day workshop and we are looking forward to seeing what the Lord will do today. Yesterday went very well and we were able to connect with a number of educators interested in the Transformational Education Network curriculum and our method of education. One of the things that appears to be coming out of this trip is forming a network of schools – private, government and others – that can act as a forum and exchange of information, ideas and solutions to help achieve transformational education. Our role will be as facilitators and advisors and we will be working on how best to accomplish this exchange of information.

Tomorrow I will be traveling several hours with an American missionary named Eric Black to his post in Billiri in Gombe State. I should say that Lord willing, I will go. I have to check with the SIM security director to discuss whether I should go due to concerns about safety in that area. I think everything will be fine and it will be good to travel with Eric, meet his family and learn about the education center he is operating in Billiri.

After I return, probably on Monday, Joe and I will be traveling to the communities of Zonkwa, Kwoi and Kubacha (I think I got those right) southwest of Jos in the neighboring state of Kaduna to explore the potential for launching TEN3 computer training outreach programs. We also were invited by one of the educators at the symposium to visit her private secondary school here in Jos, so it looks like we will be heading over there as well.

As for my general experience here in Nigeria, I have to say I have met some wonderful people. They are universally friendly to me, greeting me with big grins. Whenever we exchange greetings people often reply with “Welcome sir. Thank you sir. Welcome sir.” It makes me smile. The traffic is crazy, the police are everywhere and they carry AK-47s. It’s the dry season here on the Nigerian Plateau so it’s dusty, hot during the day in the 80s (I’m not complaining!) and cool in the night down to the 50s.

On the 4-hour plus drive Monday morning up to Jos from Abuja, where we landed Sunday evening and spent the night, we traveled through at least a half-dozen and probably closer to 10, military checkpoints. Soldiers with AK-47s manned the checkpoints, I’m assuming because the area has seen its share of Muslim-Christian conflict. Boko Haram, the Muslim terrorist group, operates in the area occasionally and more than 100 people were killed earlier this year when they set off bombs in the bustling outdoor market that’s several blocks from the compound where we are staying here in Jos. Mostly we were just waved through the checkpoints, though a few stopped us simply to chat, it seems. One engaged us in conversation and our driver, Audu, asked the soldier if he was born again. We talked about being born again, Jesus, salvation and he said he was born again. He was quite offended we didn’t have our Bibles with us in the car – they were in our luggage in the back. I’m glad he didn’t shoot us. (Just kidding!) At another checkpoint a soldier asked Joe and me where we were from. When he found out we were Americans he said he wants to go there someday. What he really wanted, though, was for us to bring him a white American wife. I told him I could see what I could do and maybe make that happen. He got a big grin and then reached in the car and we “pounded” fists. It’s the first time I’ve ever pounded fists with an AK-47-toting Nigerian soldier manning a highway checkpoint. I have to admit it was a pretty special moment.
I have many more stories to tell, but we’ll save those for other times. Blessings to you all this Thanksgiving.

Spending Thanksgiving In Africa

Shooting some video in Haiti

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving I am scheduled to fly to Nigeria on a two-week missions trip to a place that's made international news for the violence perpetrated by Muslim terrorists targeting Christians. I will be heading to Jos, where the missions organization I work for is operating in a school providing Christ-centered education and computer skills. It will be an honor to meet the educators and students in Jos who have been undeterred in the face of the relentless onslaught of violence fomented by Boko Haram.

We are expecting up to 100 educators to gather for TEN3 workshops at the 2014 Transformational Education -- Nigeria event. Later, I will be traveling to outlying communities where TEN3 hopes to launch computer training outreaches. I will be shooting video, interviewing, writing stories and shooting photographs for TEN3.

Last week I put together a 60-second video for TEN3 using video footage and photographs from two of my missions trips to Cap-Haitien, Haiti, and TEN3 staff photographs from Zambia and Nigeria. For a little flavor of what I'll experience, check out the video here:  TEN3 Missions Video

I would also appreciate your prayers for the trip. Pray for the safety of all of us and that God will be glorified in our time in Nigeria as we bring the hope of Jesus and Christ-centered education to a place in the world that desperately needs it.

Burying Lizards Alive And Getting Rich Quick

                        Lizard/amphibian thought bubble: "Don't bury me alive!"

If someone told you to bury a lizard and you would get rich, would you do it? Perhaps on the surface it sounds silly to you. Or does it?

My day job as a missionary is communications manager for Transformational Education Network, an organization dedicated to bringing Christian education and computer skills training to young adults in Africa and the Caribbean. In that capacity I get emails from around the world and came across one yesterday that got me chuckling. Christie Dasaro, our TEN3 director in Nigeria, wrote about an ongoing "Computer Holiday Adventure" computer training outreach session that is being held at our TEN3 school in Jos, Nigeria. The session has 16 students, some of them touching a computer for the first time, she wrote.

Some good news out of the session is that two of the students gave their lives to Christ and six students rededicated their lives to Christ after a Bible lesson of, "What do you believe and why the Bible?" Christie wrote that she has "never been excited teaching CTO Bible like yesterday. To God alone be the glory."

She relayed one interesting story as the students shared beliefs in their culture. One student said, "If you catch a lizard alive and bury it, after three days you will become wealthy." That sounds patently ridiculous to us in America, eh? Not so fast. We have plenty of strange cultural beliefs: The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; Santa Claus; The Tooth Fairy (who, by the way, needs an income-generating strategy because the Sabo household has lost an amazing amount of teeth); Affordable health care. Coming from a culture in which a survey several years ago showed nearly 40 percent of lower-income people believed buying lottery tickets was a good wealth-building strategy, we better not judge.

The manager at the local convenience store near my house said she has many customers who spend hundreds of dollars a day on the lottery. I was in there once clutching Seth in one arm and a pop in the other and the dude in line in front of me dropped $600 cash on scratch tickets. I blurted out, "Feeling lucky today?" He looked at me and shrugged. When he left the clerk said he usually spends more. Wow. Just wow.

Christie ended her email about the student's lizard story by writing, "Thank God, the lesson opened his eyes to see the lies of the devil and know the truth." It's a small thing to have this child's eyes opened about a faulty community cultural belief. But in the big picture, through the TEN3 session his eyes are being opened to a much greater truth: the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I quit my newspaper job in May to work with TEN3, I left the relative security of more than two decades of work as a reporter knowing that in four years of missionary support raising through Serving In Mission, I had built up only about a year's worth of funds. I felt strongly the Lord's leading in becoming a missionary with TEN3, affirmed through much prayer and confirmation in Scripture, and have faith the Lord can supply the funding to continue beyond next summer. My faith isn't in burying lizards alive, or the lottery, or some other scheme, but it's in the God who has provided for me and my large family for the past 20 plus years. We lack nothing and have been blessed tremendously.

One other thing moves me to work with TEN3 and see lives transformed around the world. Our schools are open to anyone of any beliefs, but the gospel is proclaimed unashamedly. In her email, Christie asked for prayer for one of the 16 students, who is Muslim and is hearing in the class about the hope of salvation through Jesus Christ. In a world that seems to be coming unhinged, riven by violence, hopelessness, warfare, disasters and unfathomable turmoil, the only true peace is in Jesus. One of my favorite verses is John 14:27, where Jesus says, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."