Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Home, Sweet, Sahel


I live here?!

The past month or so has been a time of redefining what the term home means. I landed in the Sahel of Africa in May, travelled down to my city for a week, and got back on a plane to head for more training in Zambia. When the plane landed, I learned how diverse Africa really is. 

To show what I mean here are some comparisons. Let's just assume I live in the dustier of the two pictures:  
 


I must admit, visiting Zambia almost made me jealous. The air is clean and dust-free. The people smile and greet me in English. The climate is pleasant, and the stars are ridiculously beautiful.

After a while, though, I found myself wanting to get back to my African home. I wanted to get started learning a language that’s useful for my people group, learning the specifics of West African culture, and building actual friendships instead of one-conversation relationships. I wanted to plant some roots where I will actually be living for the next two years.

However, there was a kink in my plans. During our bush camp experience, we found out that our team’s supervisor was diagnosed with melanoma. It was a question mark as to whether or not Melissa and Shad, who had taken us in as a part of their family and made us feel like home in our city, would be around. On top of possibly losing a large chunk of our family/team, we weren’t going to be able to go back to our city for a month.

Thus, I (internally) pouted for a bit, mourning a loss of direction and home. Where am I supposed to belong on this big, spinning ball of dirt? In a lot of ways, I never really felt like a “normal” American growing up. I think hamburgers are decent, but I could live without them. I studied French in college. I am kind of a hippie more often than not. For sure, I’m no African, either. Nor am I much of anything else. So, what am I?

I landed on this truth: regardless of my location, I am, at best, a foreigner in life. It’s good, though. In Christ, I am free to be undefined. I can be homeless, in a sense. Christ came to break down divisions, making new life and redefining home for me. So, my home is now wherever the Lord puts me for a time. Bigger than that, God has made His home inside of me, so my way of classifying myself doesn't really matter that much any more. It’s a pretty awesome concept, when you think about it. 

“For Christ himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by setting aside in his flesh the law with its commands and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace, and in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility. He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household.”

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Hello, Africa

As I stepped off the plane from West Africa to Zambia, I had to ask myself: Is this Africa, too?! I had resolved myself to the reality that where I live is not like what is portrayed in The Lion King, but I have finally seen some parts of Africa that are. So much has happened in the past few weeks, but here are a few highlights from my time in Zambia:


First we learned to manage in an urban environment: getting on minibuses, asking the right questions, seeing how Westernization affects Africa, sipping Mirinda (my new soft drink of choice), and being invited into homes even when they don’t know us. While Zambians are super welcoming and friendly, we learned that they are a very secretive group. It takes some work to truly get into an African’s life. I'll take that challenge, thank you. :)  


  Next, it was off to bush camp, where we were living in a legitimate tent city. Even without the comforts of the first world, this was my favorite part. We learned the joys of the longdrop/ latrine/ squatty potty: bees by day, bats by night. Honestly, I don't think I've ever talked about poop as much in my entire life. Water for baths had to be pumped from the well, heated by kettle over an open fire, and put into our makeshift showers (which were buckets with faucets attached to the bottom). The villages were empty in the daytime, due to harvest season, so we went out to people’s fields and joined them there, chatting and harvesting alongside them. We heard more of the dark underbelly of African culture as we interviewed witchdoctors, met girls who couldn’t speak until their mother-in-laws paid them, and heard of rampant polygamy.




Finally, the piece de resistance: homestays. We lived with an African family for a few days. It was an experience learning to draw water from a well, cooking nshima (a grits-like paste), sweeping a dirt yard, picking beans and okra, cleaning pots with mud and detergent, and trying our best to communicate [Who knew cow meat and cat meat could sound so similar?] All in all, it was a great time learning from our African brothers and sisters. I've been reminded of how diverse this continent can be. I've seen the (more) glamorous spots as well as several not-so-glamorous ones. It all just makes me excited to get back to my country and begin to be involved in life there.