Cultural Musings

Saturday, January 31, 2009
A man came to my door selling game meat. I wasn’t interested in buying game meat but I was curious as to which kind he had. “Impala,” he replied. Ohhhhhh, poor thing. I love the grace and beauty of the impala. I wonder if it is even legal to kill them and sell the meat. Needless to say, he didn’t make a sale at my house.

The neighbor boy came over this morning and told me that they were moving to Congo. That was the first I had heard of that, and was puzzled because his father is in the middle of building a big factory just down the road. I went over in the afternoon to investigate and found out that the father and son are going to travel to the Congo for a day or two next week but no one is moving anywhere. I’m not sure if the miscommunication is because Yahya is seven and this is wishful thinking or if “moving” means something different. I guess if they were really moving, they would probably use the word “shifting.” In any case, they aren’t going anywhere and that is good. But in the hours before I found out the truth, I thought about what I could do to help if they were moving. And I realized that the ways that we rely on friends to help us in the US is different than here. If you are anything but the poorest, you probably have a maid and a gardener. It would be odd for me to offer to bring over a meal, help pack boxes, clean their fridge, watch their children, etc. Yet those are all things I would readily do for friends back home. There is also a division of labor so that it would almost be embarrassing for people if I were to clean their fridge. Just another thing that is different.

Monday, February 2, 2009
The public transportation folks (taxis, minibuses, inter-city buses) went on strike today. The police are cracking down on those operating without business licenses. The drivers are protesting the hike in license fees. And the people are breaking the windows of taxis and minibuses because they are angry they can’t get to work. What a mess.

Peggy’s grandmother got a notice from the sewage and water company saying that she owed 3 million kwacha ($700) because she illegally hooked up her sewage and water. (How the heck can you do that? Electricity I understand but sewage?) The notice said that if she didn’t pay the money, a police and bailiff would show up in two days time and confiscate their property. That certainly raised her grandmothers already high blood pressure. But the grandmother has been paying her water/sewage bills and has the receipts to prove it. There are several things that point to it being a scam so I warned Peggy that it could just be someone trying to make some quick cash and to be careful.

There have been more thefts on campus in recent weeks. I’m not fearful really. Just sad that there are so many desperate people who are trying to survive anyway they can. And how their actions hurt others who also are just trying to survive. What a mess.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Peter sent me a link to an article from an Anabaptist journal on spirituality, Dreamseeker Magazine: Voices from the Soul. One of the articles by a MCC co-rep in Nigeria, Brenda Hartman-Souder, had a paragraph that caught my attention. She writes: “Our pastor friend Obed, who lived seven years in the United States, said that when someone chooses to live in an another culture and country, coming to participate in God’s work, what matters at the end of the day, what local folks remember, is not so much what missionaries or development workers do, but simply that they came, that they left what was familiar to serve and live and learn among what is not familiar. My Western activity-oriented mind both rebels at and is comforted by this comment.” I appreciate this emphasis on being instead of doing, something that is often a struggle for me.

But then I got to thinking, do I have the same attitude toward people of various cultures who come to the US to live and serve? Here, and in many parts of the world, foreigners are treated with honor and respect, shown hospitality, and appreciated for even small attempts to learn and understand their culture. When a Honduran individual or Iranian family or Chinese couple come to the US, do they receive the same honor and respect? Do people marvel at their willingness to live in a different culture and learn new ways? Are we curious about their traditions and customs and patiently explain ours? Do we see Christian foreigners as participating in God’s work in the US, take the time to learn from them and hear their critiques of Western Christianity? I think I failed miserably in this area when I lived in the US. Perhaps this experience will make me more hospitable and welcoming of the foreigner, no matter where I live. I pray it will be so.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A friend responded to my latest blog and she used the phrase “active” contentment to describe our choice to extend a year longer with MCC. She said that we are content but we have to work at it. I think she is right. Contentment does take work and sometimes I feel lazy. But contentment is something that I want to have shaped within me and this context, though difficult at times, may help to do just that. Today I feel quite content (so “content” that I neglected doing pilates like I should have done). Consciously being thankful helps me to be content when I am not and sometimes the gratitude bubbles up as a gift of contentment. This morning I have been remembering the things for which I am grateful.

I am thankful to be enjoying a cross-stitch project that both gives me a sense of accomplishment and time to let my mind wander on the evenings that Peter is revising his dissertation.
I am thankful that Adrian is coming back to MEF for a few months.
I am thankful for the new shirts my mom sent in a package, one of which I am wearing today with my fabulous 60 cent trousers.
I am thankful for rainy days and for the quiet it brings to our home.
I am thankful that God is at work regardless of whether that is evident to me at the moment.
I am thankful that Jason learned to play Uno with the cards that read Skip, Reverse, and Draw 2 because without those, the game gets boring fast.
I am thankful that the fever blister on my lip is almost healing and I will no longer have to explain to people why my lip protrudes an inch more than usual.
I am thankful for the hot shower I took this morning when the water pressure was better than normal.
I am thankful for my washing machine and for the daily ritual of hanging the wet clothes on the line to dry.
I am thankful for a slower pace of life where there is enough time for most things.
I am thankful that the sticky glue traps we set out are catching a lot of cockroaches of varying sizes.
I am thankful for Peter and the boys, each of which brings unique gifts, ideas and perspectives into my world.
I am thankful for fresh, sweet pineapple purchased at the market.

(Later.) OK, that didn’t last very long. By the time I retrieved the boys from school, I was in a bad mood. Brendan lost his swim shirt at school, a special one that we had a friend in Australia bring that cost a pretty penny. It should have been put in the lost and found box along with his towel which did show up there. So it makes me wonder if someone had sticky fingers. It is amazing that a little thing like that can make me forget how content and thankful I was this morning.

Friday, February 6, 2009
I spent the afternoon doing my shopping at the market and Shoprite while the boys were at school watching a movie. I don’t usually go at this time because Shoprite is utter chaos in the afternoons but I survived. It has been raining most of the week but it cleared up for a bit this afternoon which I was thankful for because the market is no fun in the rain. When I returned to my car, I found a street kid fast asleep on my trunk. He was standing with his top half bent over onto trunk. I greeted him but got no response. I spoke again but louder, then nudged him, then finally took his shoulder and shook him to wake up. He was so disoriented he forgot to beg for money. Then I went to get into my car and noticed a younger street kid, about seven years old, laying completely across my car hood. It took a bit of effort to wake him up as well. He finally sat up with drool down the side of his mouth. It must have felt good to enjoy the warmth of the car engine. Poor kid.

Saturday, February 7, 2009
It’s been a long time since I attempted making zweibach (Russian Mennonite double buns) without the help of my mother or grandmother. I think the last time I tried, I was a freshman in college and Dave Quiring and I managed to produce the most untasty, rock hard zweibach ever. But, thanks to John Wieler and his famous sourdough starter, I’ve improved my breadmaking skills. So today I thought I would give zweibach a try. I wouldn’t want to deprive my boys of Mennonite cultural food, you know. As I put the first batch into the oven, I realized that I had forgotten to add salt. I was resigning myself to the idea that they would taste like my Grandma Annie’s buns since she intentionally didn’t add salt for health reasons. But I guess the margarine in the dough added enough salt to make it just fine. And they were absolutely lovely! A few of the tops rolled off to the side but that just made it easier to pop into our mouths. I made Brendan and Jason repeat the name of the bun before I would give them another. Brendan kept wanting to say “Ishtbach” for some reason. Such a shame there is this gap in their knowledge. But they learned quickly because they kept begging for more and finally got the correct name stuck in their head. I was very proud of my zweibach. Just ask Peter. All afternoon, I kept saying, “I can’t believe I made zweibach!” And it wasn’t as difficult or overwhelming as I thought it would be. I guess I am learning a few things little by little.

Adrian is back!!! He managed to get out of a very snowy Heathrow airport and arrived this afternoon. He had dinner with us tonight and I made chocolate cake in honor of his return. It was fun to see how excited the boys were to see him again. We got in a game of Cities and Knights, just like old times. So great!