Salathiel is my boss’ driver. I may have mentioned him in a post or two, but if I haven’t, I really like him. He is in his 50s and is a very kind, soft-spoken man with an infectious smile. He gives off the impression that he would never hurt a fly.
And he wouldn’t, as he’s really religious. He’s of the apostolic-brand of Christianity. I don’t know much about it, but judging from him, they seem to believe very literally in the Bible.
This has led Salathiel and I into many interesting conversations during our drives to and from Harare. They started out innocently enough – Salathiel commenting on this or that and quoting from the Bible, and me uncomfortably nodding pacifistically. But as we’ve gotten to know each other more and come to respect one another, I’ve started to give me true opinions and we’ve had some great debates.
The culmination of this was this past Thursday on the drive in and out of Harare. It began by Salathiel inquiring as to why I was a vegetarian. Usually, when I explain my reasons, I get
positive reactions from people – yes, perhaps they think I’m nuts and wonder how I could do it, but on the whole, being a vegetarian in the west is sort of a morally superior thing (sorry if that sounds terrible). But Salathiel was telling me that clearly I was lost and that the devil had gotten into me – for God said that animals were created for our uses and that we had been given permission to eat them. WELL – we debated. Kindly and respectfully of course, but our debate reminded me of the political debates that my brother and I used to have (before he surpassed me in his political knowledge – now I just ask him questions and bow down to his wisdom!)
Eventually, Salathiel said that he prayed for me often, so that I would receive some epiphany from God. It was clear that I was lacking spiritual awareness, apparently. I agreed that, yes, I do lack spiritual awareness, but highly doubted that God (in the form he believes) would come to me and that suddenly I would become an apostolic church-goer. The fact of the matter, I continued, was that I had a rough history with Catholicism, and that there are too many Christian beliefs that I profoundly disagreed with. The animal thing was only one of them.
The fact of the matter is, though, that I really respect Salathiel. For, he tried to answer each of my concerns, and his answers all made sense. For him. It is clear that his religion is really working for him and that he’s a very thoughtful, deep individual with a lot of wisdom and insight. It doesn’t mean he’s going to convert me, as he hopes to, but it does mean that I’ve finally found a religious person that I can respectfully debate with.
On the way home from Harare, our debate shifted somehow to porno, prostitution, and HIV. We both agreed that porno and prostitution were unfortunate human realities, but then we discussed how to stop prostitution. I mentioned that in Senegal, the way they dealt with prostitutes was really enlightened – it was legal, but only with papers that documented regular STD checks. If you didn’t have these papers, you were considered an illegal prostitute. This was Senegal’s way of clamping down on the spread of HIV, and it was ultimately a way to protect women. It is far too common in Africa for husbands to sleep with prostitutes and to force their wives into protection-less sex. But, no matter what, Salathiel couldn’t agree that it was
good. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that prostitution could be legal,even if it was protecting women and children, and even if he could provide no suitable alternate solution. Perhaps this is where his faith, and the high ideals it gives him, falter.
Nonetheless, it was an interesting day and I gained some insight into Zimbabwean culture. Salathiel shared with me that even on our farm, there are prostitutes. No one calls themselves one out in the open, and no man openly shares that he has slept with one, but it is an unspoken yet well-known fact. Some girls as young as 12 are prostitutes on the farm. These are village people, he says, and they value education much less than work. So girls leave school, sometimes by coercion and sometimes by choice, to work. Farming, though, is hard work and pays so little that many of them turn to prostitution. Even some married women on the farm become prostitutes. The other day, he told me, a 12 year old girl was said to have slept with an old man in his 60s. Apparently, the mother offered her daughter’s virginity up to the highest bidder.
Nice.
Debating while Driving
