When it was known that a Jersey girl was going to teach in Lilongwe, a few dozen more people in the American Northeast discovered the geographical location (and existence) of a squiggly little country named Malawi for the first time.
I didn't know Malawi, much less Africa. I knew that the roads are red dirt and that I have no rooms to let and that women carry heavy loads on their heads. I knew there is poverty and mud and thatch and epidemics of horrible diseases. I knew there are tribes and villages and millionaires and big cities.
Now I have been here for three days short of seven weeks.
I still don't know Africa.
I don't know Africa, but I know Sarai (no, that's not her name, because yes, I have serious concerns about sharing names and faces on the internet), who is raising two little girls in a village hut while caring for her mother. I know her husband lives on the other side of town with a different woman. I know she hears questions like, "Mom, why don't I have a Dad to buy me treats, like my friends do?"
I don't know Africa, but I know how to eat nsima without getting it all over the place. (That adverbial might be false.)
I don't know Africa, but I know people who have dedicated their lives to investing in its citizens. These people pour their heart and soul into their work, whether its spiritual, educational, medical, entrepreneurial, or material (what's the adjective to describe work that involves the building of houses, wells, schools, fences, irrigation systems, and churches?).
I don't know Africa, but I know how to greet a stranger in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger takes the greeting as an invitation to start an entire conversation in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger, along with all and any bystanders, decides to laugh hysterically at me for not knowing any Chichewa beyond my scripted greeting.
I don't know Africa, but I know how it is to be stared at. And laughed at. And stared at after being laughed at.
I don't know Africa, but I know that the sky here is marvelous. The red sun sinks below a haze of dry-season smog, softening to pink before slipping behind a craggy hill. Orion stands beside a crescent moon at 05:00, as reassuring in this hemisphere as he was in the one I quitted three days short of seven weeks ago. Morning light glimmers over Lake Malawi, calling attention to the contrast of the blue of the water with the blue of the sky, harmonious in their different hues.
I don't know Africa, but I know how wonderful it feels to have coffee on a sand dune watching those two blues.
I don't know Africa, but I know the hospitality of its people, whether they be citizens of a village or of a Christian college campus.
I don't know Africa, but I know that I want to be here, teaching students who have the potential to become the next leaders within this area, or this city, or this country.
I don't know Africa, but I think I can get to know it, or at least the squiggle of it that I currently call home.
I don't know Africa, but I want to, by the sustaining grace of the God who brought me here.
I don't know Africa, but I know that Palibe wofana nye Yesu. There's no one like Jesus.
I love how you wrote this post! I hope you are well! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Michelle! Thank you for reading :) xox
DeleteBarbie, several posts ago, I was so touched with your thoughts and words, and how sensitive you are to those in the area.... "musings" I believe was the post I wanted to reply to and wrote four times and when I tried to send it, I lost it. bummer. heres hoping this goes thru.
ReplyDeletelike Michelle, (and many others) I enjoy reading your posts, please don't stop.
love you like crazy, till next time, Gpa and me xo xo