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| Neighbor Martin, playing under the mango tree |
Last Saturday I found myself
powering down the red sandy road, my brown satchel full of all the necessary
supplies—toilet paper, water, sunscreen, Cliff bar, hand sanitizer, garden
tools. I did not want to be found
lacking anything for my first solo workday at Okari church. Since Melissa has gone back to the
states, I have been the sole kawaja in the congregation. The churches here in Mundri have church
workdays on a regular basis, in which members of the congregation meet to weed,
plant, harvest, pick, build, or do any other kind of outdoor labor one could
possibly imagine. This particular
Saturday, Okari church would be making bricks that would be used on a church
office. I was overjoyed to have a
chance to hang out with people in the community, while enjoying the peaceful
monotony of molding chunks of mud into rectangular blocks one after the
other. On top of that, I’ve been
feeling the need to pull more of my weight, show that I can be a valued member
of the community, for a reason other than the color of my skin. I couldn’t wait to get to church and
prove that I could earn my stay.
Shortly before reaching church, I
rode by my friend Mary’s compound, looking at her tukul door to see if she was
up for the day. I was happy to see
that her door was open, and I found her hovering over the fire, stoking it with
pieces of coal. “Awadiya! Salaam miro!” I greeted, riding up the
hill into the open center of her compound. “Jonnifa! Kef?”
She was glad to have a surprise visit at the start of her day. As I parked my bike under the shade of
a mango tree, I explained how excited I was to help make bricks at church. She then informed me that (as usual) I
had gotten the dates wrong, and the event that I had so eagerly planned for was
not happening this morning.
This is the regular routine in
Africa—plan for an event and then wait and wait until you find out that it
really isn’t going to happen. The
lack of structure and the unpredictability I’ve faced in church-led events has
been cause of frustration.
However, this day, the Holy Spirit was good to keep me content, and I
decided I would spend my day with my friend.
She pulled over for me a plastic
chair, the nice one used for guests, and started to prepare some tea for
me. African tea is amazing—the
women put in fresh herbs and lots of sugar and serve it scalding hot. This day, Mary made me some lemongrass
tea, moving the teapot with her bare hands to make sure it was over the hottest
coals. She had made these coals
from wood on her own compound.
When she is stretched financially and cannot afford to purchase things
from the market she must make do with the resources around her home and garden. As Mary went off into the grass to
bathe, I was stuck with the unfortunate task of watching over the tea. Before long, it started to boil over,
and I frantically grabbed some tissues from my purse to use for gripping the
pot. They didn’t work so well, and
I abruptly set the burning teapot on the ground. Mary (and an onlooking neighbor girl) laughed as I attempted
to place the teapot back into a better spot on the fire. More tea just spilled out as the pot
tilted against the coals. Luckily
for me, the Moru people are gracious towards the kawaja women like me who still
have “man hands.” (In Moru culture, the women do all the tough labor, so the
people with weak hands are said to have “man hands.”)
Mary and I enjoyed catching up over
some mandazi (fried dough) and lemongrass tea. We talked about the previous week, travel plans, people’s
health, and the current weather, switching back and forth between Arabic and
English at random times. She has
always been good to let me spit out my broken Arabic phrases, restating them in
the correct way when I get them wrong.
It is a blessing to live in a culture that appreciates any sort of
attempt at speaking the native language.
There’s no judgment, no condescension, when I fail to get the words
right. There may be some
laughter—but humor and humility are necessary when learning a new language.
As the day went on, Mary was ready
for a little more English practice, so we sat on a mat of reeds under the mango
tree and read from the Jesus Storybook
Bible. This book, with its
succinct narration and vivid pictures, is extremely popular here in Mundri. The team gave out one for each primary
school this past year at teacher training. (Thank you, Liberti church in
Philly!) I’m hoping to give out more in the future. We read the story of Rachel and Leah, entitled, “The Girl No
One Wanted.” The story focuses on how God uses the seemingly unaffecting,
awkward people to help make His kingdom come. It was encouraging to read, as I
live and work in a foreign country, unsure of how I’m really helping my Moru
friends, unsure of what the future holds for me.
While we were reading, a woman and
her three children came by to get some medicine. Mary is the official neighborhood dispensary. Sick people come to her to prescribe the appropriate dosage and give it for a limited
fee. This time, the children and
mother were visiting for a simple antihistamine, which Mary gave by crushing up
and putting into milk, which was forced into the children’s mouths. I looked through the Jesus Storybook Bible with the oldest
girl, pointing out things she might recognize and describing them in
Arabic. She was mesmerized.
I left Mary’s compound completely
satisfied with the day the Lord had given me. It wasn’t what I had planned, and I didn’t get to “earn my
keep” by working in the churchyard.
However, I was reminded how this day, just like every day spent in S.
Sudan, the Lord is giving me the desires of my heart. I got to ride my bike down a familiar
African road, watching the sun streak through the clouds that seem to stretch
out into eternity. I got to speak
English and native tongue to someone vastly different than myself, and still
feel a heart connection. I got to
talk about America, explaining that, although life there seems much happier, it
is merely “different.” I spent a
day in the reality of things I only dreamt about long ago. And I needn’t worry about all my good
works--- Jesus has already earned my keep for me.
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| With Mary (Awadiya) at Okari church on Christmas |
Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.
-Psalm 37:4
