The Last Post

I sit on the back deck and look out at the weeping willow growing heavy once again and the hills peppered with the tiny green leaves of spring. I can hardly believe that we are here again and at the same time I can hardly believe we ever left. Carson puts on his boots and suspenders and looks every bit country, and I think this could be a good look for him. This could be a good fit... this mending fences, and rethinking the barnyard setup, and chasing down renegade calves...

Books sit piled on the floor, because we still haven’t bought book shelves. My sewing machine is finally in place, but I need an iron and board to finish the set up. I throw the new comforter over the new mattress that sits on the new bed frame that Carson built with his new saw. New is in the trees and it’s filling our lives as we begin to fill in the empty spaces... spaces that we emptied out in Tanzania, our belongings with pieces of ourselves right alongside.

I’m exhausted from carrying the baby in my belly and the one on my hip and the toddler sleeps soundly, but I can’t seem to get the baby down. He plays happily in the floor and as if taken over by another force I sit down and draw out a design that I can’t shake with oil pastels and charcoal pencils. Suddenly, I have more inspiration than I’ve had in a long time and I realize that a part of me has been in hiding for these four years. I did creative things, but another dimension of art is coming back to the surface after laying dormant. I try to find time to get these ideas out before they swallow me from the inside out, and I wonder, what part of me that came to life there will hide in the dark corners now that I’m back here.... There are now two versions of me and I don’t know if I can ever be fully both at the same time.

It’s a stressful season in many ways, but at least this time around I knew that was coming. Knowing doesn’t stop the stress of transition, but I think I recognize it more quickly. I give myself room to flounder a little. I stand in the toilet paper isle at Walmart and can’t remember for the life of me what brand we used to buy, so I stop trying. It doesn’t really matter. Just like it doesn’t matter which kind of deodorant or shampoo or cereal that I buy. I don’t have to scan the shelf for the best deals or the healthiest options. Saving money and being healthy are important, but I had neighbors just a few weeks ago without running water. Somehow that thought just puts MSG and high fructose corn syrup in perspective. Not something to ignore, but something to ignore for now, until the long isles are a little less intimidating.

I try to remember the air in Tanzania, but I can’t. I know it had a certain feel, but I can’t find it. It will come back. I know this because there were times in Tanzania when I’d be standing outside, barefoot, always barefoot and a breeze would hit that would feel so very much like Tennessee. These two places, so far apart, sit side by side in my mind. I can be here on the farm one moment and standing in my Geita living room the next. I am home and I miss home. Will that feeling ever go away?

When we took off on that first of many flights 4 years ago I listened to The Weepies, You Can't Go Back Now. The lyrics proved true over the years and seem appropriate once again as we close out this season to make room for the next.

You know there will be days when you're so tired that you can't take another step, 
The night will have no stars and you'll think you've gone as far as you will ever get

But you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now

I can't really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself

And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now

Thanks to everyone who has been a part of this journey with us.

Five Minute Friday: After

After

It was always there in the back of my mind. The thought of what we might do after Tanzania, but as the thought would come I would push it to the back of my mind and try to focus on the present. Then the time came closer and we began to actually dream about what the after might be like. Now, 11 days into it we’re still dreaming and trying to figure out how to make those dreams come true. 

The thing I never realized, never thought about, is that the after is inevitably shaped by the before and the before just now finished. Our season in Tanzania just barely over and I struggle with the after because I’m still processing the before...

Yesterday, I dug through the pots and pans we brought back with us to find one for cooking and I spotted the one Elizabeth always made rice in. The bottom of the pan still has the tell tale marks because her rice was the last thing cooked in it. The faint outlines where little rice grains sat a little too long on the heat. It will come off after it’s washed a time or two. It will be a memory, but right now the before is still so fresh.

5 Thoughts on Adapting to Another Culture: Part 3

I’d like to close out my culture rambling with some thought for those who are living in their home country but come in contact with those from other cultures who now live there (so basically everyone in America). This is based on my own personal experience so it may not all hold true for every person, but I think there are some good points in here. 

First, embracing a new culture when you will be living there for an extended period of time can be hard. Before moving to Tanzania I had visited several countries and found that in the short time I was there I embraced the culture and “loved” it in a sense. I was surprised when I moved to Tanzania at how much I resisted that same sort of embracing. It could partly be that the cultural differences were greater than I had experienced elsewhere, but I think it was also because I knew I would be here for a while. I can only imagine what it would be like to move to a new country with the knowledge that you may never return home.

Second, it may seem at times that someone isn’t making any effort to adapt to the new culture they are living in, but they are adapting far more than you know. Some of the smallest things can be cultural stressors. I think Tanzanians would be shocked if I told them about my difficulty with visitors and how crazy the word "hodi" makes me feel at times. I’m not sure what to compare that to in American culture.

Third, just because a person has moved to a new country doesn’t mean that they should abandon their own culture. No one should be expected to give up their identity simply because they live in another country, no matter what their reason for moving or how long they will be there.

Fourth, do what you can to understand and acknowledge their culture. I was very encouraged in Geita when people were affirming of my attempts to learn Swahili or wear Tanzanian fabrics. It was just nice to know that they noticed what must have seemed like very small efforts to adapt to Tanzanian culture.

Fifth, grace. It is always a good idea to extend grace to people, but especially when they are adapting to a new culture. You can’t fully understand what they are experiencing or what might have been rough for them that day, so it is always a good idea to give them grace. It’s also easy to misinterpret even the simplest things from someone of a different culture than your own. Most people (from any culture) aren’t outright rude or mean, but their culture could be interpreted that way if looking through a different lens. 

Our first flight leaves in about 5 hours. We appreciate your prayers over our travels and ask that you particularly pray for good health for the four of us over the next 48 hours.

Sukuma Jokes: Culture Part 2

Last summer, Carson was out in a Sukuma village with some of the interns when people started telling jokes. Carson sat translating for the interns, all of them dumbfounded when each joke resulted in laughter from the crowd. The jokes were all pretty similar. Here is an example.

A Sukuma guy is on his bike traveling to the next village over when he rides through a clothes line. The line cuts his head off and it goes rolling, but he keeps riding. When he arrives at the village the people say to him, “Your head is gone!” Then he dies. (Cue laughter)

They were a bit baffled by why these stories where so funny and many of them even seemed kind of morbid. One of our teammates had a chance a while later to ask a lady who has lived here much longer than any of us if she had any insight. It turns out that this type of joke is very popular and is about a particular group of the Sukuma people (or a sister tribe?). They are known for being naive and sort of redneck. The idea behind this type of joke is that they are so clueless they could lose their head and still not know they were dead unless someone told them. Still sound strange? Consider the phrase, “She would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on.” or perhaps the whole “dumb blonde” sense of humor.

I try to remember that story when things in Tanzanian culture don’t make sense to me. A direct translation of what was being said, without the context left us thinking Tanzanians had some really bizarre sense of humor. However, once someone explained the story behind the jokes we were able to not only understand, but even relate them to aspects of American humor.

Random Thoughts on Culture: Part 1

I'm thinking there will be 3 parts to these thoughts. If I posted it all at once it would be a longer post than I would ever read, so I can't really expect others to read it. Here's part 1:

After 4 years living abroad there is one thing I know for sure about culture: it is complex. You can study a particular culture, the language, the customs, even live there, but you will not fully understand it. Maybe there is a point at which you do, but it is much longer than 4 years! There is a lot we have learned about Tanzanian and Sukuma people, but there is much more that still doesn’t make sense. Even when I try to let go of my own culture, the logic that it has ingrained in me is so deep that I can never fully see through Tanzanian eyes.

Here is an example. In Tanzania there is no concept of lining up as we do in America. When you find yourself in any situation where Americans would form a nice orderly line and take turns, Tanzanians form a hug mob of people all pushing towards the front. There are people touching you on all sides and as you reach the window or desk where you are trying to pay (or whatever you’re doing) everyone within reach is holding out their money waving it in the face of the person taking the money until theirs is taken. To an American this sounds bizarre and completely illogical and having participated in the mob on many occasions I can say that it has certainly made me question the intelligence of this “system”.  Even in places where lines are more accepted (Dar es Salaam) I’ve found that if I leave space between myself and the person in front of me someone will step between us, no matter how clear it is that I am in fact in the line. However, when I step back and begin to look at our American solution to this problem I realize it may not be completely logical either. We function on a first come first serve basis. Fairness to us means that people are helped in the order they arrived. But, is that really the most fair thing? What if instead of lines at the Walmart checkout we formed circles. The people in each circle could discuss the reasons they need to finish their shopping excursion and check out in a need based order. For instance, consider the single mom who has dashed in to pick up a posterboard when she didn’t really have time because her son waited till the last minute to mention that he needed it for his school project. She’s now late to pick up her daughter from soccer practice and her mom, who lives with them, is at home sick waiting on the medicine she just picked up from the pharmacy. Should she really have to wait on the retired couple who have absolutely no where to be and are happy to be out of the house just because they happened to arrive first? I’m sure this system has flaws as well, but my point here is that I have a tendency to assume that my American logic, concept of fairness and right and wrong is fully correct when it is really just what fits my culture. I’ve yet to figure out the reasoning behind the Tanzanian mob system, but I’m certain there is one. Sometimes in the Christian West we tend to think that our ideas on these issues even come from a Biblical perspective, but I don’t recall Jesus teaching the “first come first serve” concept. In fact I seem to recall something about the first shall be last and the last shall be first... now that would make for a complicated checkout line.

Packing

I wrote this last week in the midst of packing, but I'm just now getting around to posting.

4 years. There were so many moments along the way that felt long, but looking back now it all went by in a rush. 4 years and 2.75 children later we’re going back. I can’t even wrap my mind around all the ways we’ve changed. I figure it will take years to really process these 4 years.

As we pack up our house I find myself trying to pack away the memories, emotions, and experiences of these years.... and just like in my house I keep running out of boxes. Some things I’m letting go of, just like the piles of papers, and coins, and junk that tends to accumulate in my house. Other things I’m packing away nicely in the boxes prepared and labeled in my mind... and still others I’m searching for just the right space in my heart. I’m making new boxes, and jumbling things together that don’t quite seem to go together. It’s gonna take a while and I’m gonna do my best to give myself time. Time to find all the right places for these things. Time to decide what to keep. Time to remember and dwell and let go as the need comes. I don’t know if these sort of thoughts make any sense, but that’s where I am right now. Sorting and sweeping and packing away. 

Rest: Five Minute Friday

Lisa Jo is choosing the perfect 5 Minute Friday topics for me these days! Here goes Rest.

I could use some rest these days. This morning after walking around the house from room to room trying to get everything into the correct pile, box, room I collapsed in the rocker, one of only three chairs remaining in the house. I sent someone to grab some granola bars from The Groen’s and asked Carson for some water. I felt like I was going to fall over if I didn’t sit down... a feeling I’m all too familiar with these days being pregnant. It’s easy to overdo things in this state when your in the middle of a move. 

The rest is coming... 

In the moments when my body tells me to sit or else. 

In small increments each night as we chill at the Groen’s or Harrison’s and enjoy being away from the mess. 

And in just 11 days that other kind of rest that comes from seeing the smiling faces in the airport. The hugs. The people who are so happy to see you (and of course your children!) that they can hardly contain it. 

And at last collapsing into the bed after 48 long hours of travel, not fully knowing what comes next except that rest is most certainly on the agenda.