Terri Julians became an atheist, and doctors told her she was having an “existential crisis” . So she sold all her stuff and went to live in the remote mountains of KwaZulu-Natal.

It was while I was living in a small tent in the woods that I realised I had become atheist. This realization spurred me on to find real meaning and purpose in a life which had always benefited from the self deluding safety-net of Faith.

Staggering down the imaginary path of righteousness, I tried to find parallels which would help me overcome this empty chasm I now found myself existing in but to no avail.

My full story tells of a journey from the despair of losing my faith which resulted in being hospitalised for two months with what the doctors diagnosed as an “existential crisis” to volunteering for over two years on a remote mountain range in Northern KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, working for poverty stricken HIV/AIDS orphans and vulnerable children.

It took a year to raise the money for the air ticket and sell what little I had before I could leave the familiarity of Southern England, my family and friends, to step into a different world with no idea of what would happen and no savings to fall back on.

Just before I was due to go, I met a retired British nurse called Jan Edwards who was also volunteering to help and together we travelled to Ingwavuma and our new adventure.

Knowing that there was a strong element of practicing Christians there, Jan and I were happy to discover we were both atheists and allies in the cause of reason and common sense. We both cared about people for itsown sake, for the pleasure of giving of ourselves, the reward being the experience itself. We were not disappointed.

Ingwavuma

The conditions in beautiful Ingwavuma were already bad before HIV reared its ugly head, due mainly to its remote location and difficult terrain. For much of my time there I lived with no water, electricity or sanitation.

I witnessed the suffering of proud Zulu people of all ages, many dying alone on the dirt floors of their mud huts in the extensive bush. Children and babies die regularly there; I know because I picked them up and helped the families to bury them.

Saturday is “funeral day”. Every weekend one would see evidence of a funeral being prepared for on a homestead; so common that the local hardware store sold coffins of all sizes (right) stacked up against the walls along side gardening and household stock.

Living and working with devout, Christian missionaries we were astonished at the variance of Christian and traditional Zulu values alongside the Missionary zeal with which they considered saving souls more important than saving physical lives. I had many interesting but frustrating discussions with these, mainly white Christians. They could not, for one moment, understand why I was there if I did not believe I was called upon to do God’s work.

I was there because I care for people and not for any reward in an afterlife, to save my soul or to score “Brownie points” with a deity. I chose to do something instead of moaning about it every time a swollen bellied, fly infested baby appeared on my television screen.

The irony is that, even if they considered me to be doing “God’s work”, I was still going to burn in an eternal fiery Hell because I refused to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. It would seem that doing His work in ignorance still does not qualify one for entrythrough the Pearly Gates; you have to love him and flatter him too.

A further irony was that Jan and I were in Ingwavuma as long term volunteers; we gave up a lot to go there and did not get any wages or reward for our work. The “Missionaries” were there under the guise of doctor, teacher, NGO Director….and they got paid for their work and time, some paid by their Churches, after all, it was “God’s work” they were doing.

That old, inedible chestnut

Among the questions put to me during the many discussions I had in Ingwavuma was,

“What about morality? Without God where do you get it from?”

This subject arose once while talking to one of the surgeons from the hospital one evening. He was one who, despite being a highly intelligent man, could not understand how I could possibly know right from wrong if I do not believe in God or the Bible. Who has instructed me to know the difference? This point never ceases to amaze and, incidentally, offend me.

While I was there I organized the distribution of emergency food and aid to child-headed families who live in extreme hardship, in Third World conditions just four hours drive from “civilization”.

Among many things I also implemented a home building project and sponsorships for child-headed families. Jan drove out into the sweltering bush every day giving basic nursing care to people with AIDS and TB who were unable to walk the many miles to a clinic.

We both believed passionately in the work being done by the NGO we were affiliated to.

The Missionary tact is that they are there to do the same thing….along with saving souls by spreading the gospels and converting the Zulus to Christianity.

I once had an application for donated Californian raisins for the children turned down by a large US based missionary church because they discovered I was not a Christian and could not spread the Gospels as I handed out the dried fruit.

I eventually left the NGO I was attached to when they started to put money towards training Pastors to spread the word of God instead of buying basic food for the children.

“God sandwiches” I called it; filling their minds with lies and their bellies with nothing at all.

Zulu Traditional Beliefs

There is a Church there who also takes aid to the people but along with it they take a battery powered VCR showing a video about Jesus and hand out Bibles along with the inadequate supplies of food.

The interesting thing is that most Zulu people, especially the really poor in the remote bush, pay lip service to the Christians to get out of them what they can and I do not blame them for one moment; after all, I would say I believed in Satan and all his little wizards if my children were hungry enough. I found it ironic to see them kowtowing to the Christian missionaries then pursuing their own rituals behind their backs.

The Zulu religion is not altruistic. They revere their departed family with great superstition and fear. When they pay homage to them it seems to be through their own desire to avert misfortune and court favour to aid their own fortunes. Basically I see most people of all Faiths doing exactly the same thing but the Zulus do it with a refreshing honesty rather than masking it with window dressing. It often appears that those who shout the loudest about their Faith are the ones who do the least by way of altruistically contributing to those in need.

Some of the Zulu religious traditions are quite touching; I often helped families by transporting the dead relative in our NGO’s open backed van from the hospital in town to their homestead in the Bush.  The family would meet me at the mortuary and in our latex gloves we lifted the unyielding, cold body, wrapped crudely in polythene, out of the refrigerator and, often unable to afford even a cheap coffin, wrapped it in a blanket on the floor and slid it into the back of the van.  I once collected a baby wrapped in a thin towel like a dead puppy.

The relatives would pile in the back of the van with the body and all the way home, which could take an hour on rough, dirt roads and tracks, sometimes in torrential rainstorms. They would sing beautiful traditional songs for the departed.  They also had a small, leafy branch from a bush. This they believed temporarily housed the spirit of the deceased and all the way home they would talk to this twig and tell them where they were on the journey;

“We are just crossing the bridge; we are now at the old tree…”

The tradition was to place the twig either in the person’s home or on their grave at the home and visit it to talk to them. When the twig withered, the spirit had moved on.

When we arrived at the homesteads for the burial, there was not one Christian prayer or hymn used at these services despite their attendance at Christian churches on a Sunday. All the prayers and songs were traditional Zulu probably used for centuries.

Would a belief in God make me live any differently?

Many times I listened patiently to my missionary friends explain their beliefs, with the usual lack of evidence based back-up, and their sincere concern for my future spiritual welfare.

I would explain that I was already doing what I considered to be the best that I can and that, even if I had a holy revelation, I could not imagine doing anything different. If I woke up and found Jesus at the foot of my bed surrounded by a host of angels, apart from wondering if my medication was disagreeing with me, I would certainly be happy to listen to everything he had to say and have many challenging questions for him.

However, I am certain that, after an historic exchange, I would continue with my life in exactly the same way.

I already tried my best to do the right thing for others and for myself. I often fail miserably but at least I try. Sometimes I could try harder, or I try too hard.

If I were to remain true to my reasoning then suddenly finding “God” should have no more or less influence over the way I conduct myself in this life but it would affect myponderings of an after-life and its implications.

Aid-work as a penance

I have been told by several of my Ingwavuma friends that one of the reasons they are there doing “God’s work” is that they are facing, head on, their own prejudices or fears.

One of the men had been brought up by Afrikaans parents who were staunch supporters of the Apartheid regime. He grew up to view black people as an inferior race. To his credit, he came to realise as he matured, that this was wrong and unjust. He has, in effect, given his life to helping the black, poverty stricken people of Ingwavuma. However, rather than taking credit for his own morality, he is insistent that God has spoken to his “heart” and helped him come to this conclusion and he now serves God.

The result is that he now does commendable work for the people and children but gives all the credit to God and none to his own sense of compassion. He admitted to me that he struggles because he was so indoctrinated by his parents views that he still feels a certain amount of abhorrence toward the black people which he struggles to overcome. He regards this discomfort as a sort of “penance” for his previous attitude and continues to do this work; the fact that it is not easy is, for him, a sort of “hair shirt” which embodies his devotion to God.

It is akin to me deliberately sitting in a pit of spiders to overcome my irrational abhorrence of them. I would either completely overcome my fear or be carried out a gibbering wreck. I could not “decide” to like spiders! I can appreciate them and accept them but I still do not wish to wake up with one on my pillow. Having said that, the size of spiders I encountered on my bedroom walls in Ingwavuma alone should have earned me my angel wings!

This man is going through the motions of morality because it is in the rule book and not because he truly believes it to be right. This is a false and contemptible morality. By living and working in Ingwavuma he was putting himself into a situation where he had to confront his prejudice every day but if the prejudice is there by nature he is never going to be truly non-racist. It is not a decision to be made but a conclusion to be reached.

It is my experience that when Christian Missionaries have exhausted the platitudes, burned out the paraphrases and ground down the analogies, they find themselves backed into a corner from which there is no way out except to tell me that, even though I do not know it, God loves me and is working through me, even if I do not love him.

He loves me yet will stand by while I burn in Hell. A strange and twisted love, I think.

I do not want the love of an abomination which demands flattery, who spies on my every thought, who takes credit for all the good things that I do and condemns me to suffer for my mistakes born of ignorance.

I am back in the U.K. after rebuilding my life to some extent, although I returned as had left – with nothing. I lived for two weeks in my tent while heavy snow fell; a vast difference from the relentless sun of South Africa. I have only just now acquired a secure home after seven years and have a wonderful job back in the health sector. I learned many valuable lessons while in Zululand but one in particular which keeps me fighting against the un-reasonable:  Religion is a poison which is added to the milk of human kindness and poured down the throats of the hungry.

I have recently been asked to intervene in helping raise funds and assistancefor a small locally run Community Based Organisation in Ingwavuma called ‘The KwaShukela Care Organisation’ made up of local people who are trying to provide Home Based Care for adults and children in the remote bush suffering from HIV/AIDS and TB. The organisation cares for 580 people and the main need is for food and basic medical supplies.

To do this I need to return for a short stay in Ingwavuma to help set up administrative and logistical systems and obtain publicity material to continue fundraising when back in the UK. This is to provide an ongoing supply of a specially formulated, nutritional porridge which would allow people to take their Anti Retro Viral treatment without the nausea it causes if not taken with food and so often prevents them from taking the drugs. This porridge will help keep people alive and prevent more orphans.

My aim is, as when I fundraised before, to maintain an ongoing communication with the project in order to report back to sponsors and funders so they can be assured their funding is being used directly for the purpose specified. This is so important and easily maintained and was the lynch-pin of the work I did in Ingwavuma.

I would be very happy to represent an openly non-faith based source of aid and communication to the people in an area I have come to know and love so well. I know where the need is greatest, how to maximise the aid to best effect and have the contacts there where it is needed.

During my years in Ingwavuma I have seen the very real results of the efforts made on behalf of the Zulu people and the lasting effect that human kindness can have on those who are vulnerable and weak. I have also been on the receiving end of this in my own life prior to going to Zululand and am witness to its potency in both body and mind.

A little goes a very long way and would help them to realise that assistance does not have to come with religious strings attached, that even though they pursue their traditional andcultural beliefs, there are people across the world who want to help for the sake of GOODNESS and not Godliness.

Terri Julians returned to the UK last year.

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