Written by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe, the Mexico Country Coordinator
1. Don’t ask the question, “So how was it?” Your YAGM cannot function in one-word answers right now, especially ones intended to sum up their entire year’s experience, and being asked to do so may cause them to start laughing or crying uncontrollably. Ask more specific questions, like “Who was your closest friend?” or “What did you do in your free time?” or “What was the food like?” or “Tell me about your typical day.”
2. If you wish to spend time with your YAGM, let them take the lead on where to go and what to do. Recognize that seemingly mundane rituals, like grocery shopping or going to the movies, may be extremely difficult for someone who has just spent a year living without a wide array of material goods. One former YAGM, for example, faced with the daunting task of choosing a tube of toothpaste from the 70-odd kinds available, simply threw up in the middle of the drugstore.
3. Expect some feelings of jealousy and resentment, especially if your YAGM lived with a host family. Relationships that form during periods of uncertainty and vulnerability (the first few months in a foreign country, for example) form quickly and deeply. The fact that your YAGM talks non-stop about their friends and family from their country of service doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, too. It simply means that they’re mourning the loss (at least in part) of the deep, meaningful, important relationships that helped them to survive and to thrive during this last year. In this regard, treat them as you would anyone else mourning a loss.
4. You may be horrified by the way your YAGM dresses; both because their clothes are old and raggedy and because they insist on wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Upon encountering their closet at home, returning YAGMs tend to experience two different emotions: (1) jubilation at the fact that they can stop rotating the same 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, and (2) dismay at the amount of clothing they own, and yet clearly lived without for an entire year. Some YAGMs may deal with this by giving away entire car loads of clothing and other items to people in need. Do not “save them from themselves” by offering to drive the items to the donation center, only to hide them away in your garage. Let your YAGM do what they need to do. Once they realize, after the fact, that you do indeed need more than 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts to function in professional American society, offer to take them shopping. Start with the Goodwill and the Salvation Army; your YAGM may never be able to handle Macys again.
5. Asking to see photos of your YAGM’s year in service is highly recommended, providing you have an entire day off from work. Multiply the number of photos you take during a week’s vacation, multiply that by 52, and you understand the predicament. If you have an entire day, fine. If not, take a cue from number 1 above, and ask to see specific things, like photos of your YAGM’s host family, or photos from holiday celebrations. Better yet, set up a number of “photo dates,” and delve into a different section each time. Given the high percentage of people whose eyes glaze over after the first page of someone else’s photos, and the frustration that can cause for someone bursting with stories to tell, this would be an incredible gift.
6. At least half the things that come out of your YAGM’s mouth for the first few months will begin with, “In Mexico/Slovakia/South Africa/etc…” This will undoubtedly begin to annoy the crap out of you after the first few weeks. Actually saying so, however, will prove far less effective than listening and asking interested questions. Besides, you can bet that someone else will let slip exactly what you’re thinking, letting you off the hook.
7. That said, speak up when you need to! Returning YAGMs commonly assume that almost nothing has changed in your lives since they left. (This happens, in part, because you let them, figuring that their experiences are so much more exciting than yours, and therefore not sharing your own.) Be assertive enough to create the space to share what has happened in your life during the last year.
8. Recognize that living in a very simple environment with very few material belongings changes people. Don’t take it personally if your YAGM seems horrified by certain aspects of the way you live – that you shower every day, for example, or that you buy a new radio instead of duct-taping the broken one back together. Recognize that there probably are certain things you could or should change (you don’t really need to leave the water running while you brush your teeth, do you?), but also that adjusting to what may now feel incredibly extravagant will simply take awhile. Most YAGMs make permanent changes toward a simpler lifestyle. Recognize this as a good thing.
9. Perhaps you had hopes, dreams, and aspirations for your YAGM that were interrupted by their year of service. If so, you may as well throw them out the window. A large percentage of returning YAGMs make significant changes to their long-term goals and plans. Some of them have spent a year doing something they never thought they’d enjoy, only to find themselves drawn to it as a career. Others have spent a year doing exactly what they envisioned doing for the rest of their lives, only to find that they hate it. Regardless of the direction your YAGM takes when they return…rejoice! This year hasn’t changed who they are; it has simply made them better at discerning God’s call on their lives. (Note: Some YAGMs spend their year of service teaching English, some are involved in human rights advocacy, others work with the elderly or disabled, and at least one spent his year teaching British youth to shoot with bows and arrows. The results of this phenomenon, therefore, can vary widely.)
10. Go easy on yourself, and go easy on your YAGM. Understand that reverse culture shock is not an exact science, and manifests itself differently in each person. Expect good days and bad days. Don’t be afraid to ask for help (including of the pharmaceutical variety) if necessary. Pray. Laugh. Cry. This too shall pass, and in the end, you’ll both be the richer for it.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Happy Birthday and the Mother City!
Recently here in South Africa I have been enjoying some new events, new places and new friends! Just two weeks ago on May 27th, I celebrated my 23rd birthday in South Africa! It was a beautiful day, cold and sunny. I started the day by visiting the kitchen where my friends Sakhile and Jane grabbed me and sang happy birthday and then proceeded to try to pour water on me! A strange birthday tradition. After enjoying breakfast, I had a simple day at work just hanging out in my office and doing some writing, making photocopies and of course, visiting friends around the center. Trevor, one of my favorite pastors here in SA, was visiting the office on my birthday for a meeting so it was great to sit with him during lunch and enjoy the conversation.
That night, I went out with three of my friends here, Mantsha, Mpho and Mahlodi. We went to a seafood restaurant and I told them that probably more than half of you at home in the states have no idea how beautiful and modern some places here in South Africa are. So they demanded we take a picture so you all can get a better idea of what this corner of Africa is like =) SO here is a picture from the evening:
After enjoying their wonderful company, I came back to my place and began packing for the next big adventure! In the morning, I would be leaving for a few days in Cape Town! How can one spend an entire year in South Africa without at least seeing the beautiful city known as "The Mother City". So I was off to experience this awesome city that I have heard feels nothing like the rest of South Africa.
On Saturday, May 28th, I landed in Cape Town and was immediately struck by the beauty of the city between an ocean and a mountain! Gorgeous. The weather for my 5 days and 4 nights there was not ideal but that's why it's called the off-season! I was appreciative of the lowered prices for accommodation and most attractions. And I got to see most of the big attractions in the city including a trip up Table Mountain, a tour of the Cape Winelands, a ride through Camps Bay, many museums in town, the infamous Long Street and the penguins of Boulders Beach on the southern peninsula.
And yes, I was traveling alone! I was a little bit worried about it but I think that just as in any other major city in the world, one simply just needs to be smart about things. I was just fine for my stay in Cape Town and I enjoyed the freedom of doing things by myself! I could change my mind at any moment about what I was going to do next or what I was going to have for dinner. =) It was sort of nice not having to consult with a travel buddy. Figuring everything out on my own also made me feel very independent and accomplished.
By the end of my trip there though, I was missing Johannesburg! Which, when I said this to a man in a restaurant in the city, made him laugh uncontrollably for about five minutes "You miss JOBURG??? Seriously??? You're telling me you're in Cape Town right now and you MISS Joburg." Hahaha. Seriously though! Joburg has such character and a much more "African" vibe if I can say that... Fruit vendors, people yelling, music in the streets, almost getting hit by taxis... there was nothing like it in Cape Town! =)
It was a nice escape to experience this metropolitan city. Parts of it felt like NYC or a european city... but I was glad to get back to my friends and my life in Joburg.
I hope to post pictures of my Cape Town adventures some time next week! =)
Thanks for reading!
That night, I went out with three of my friends here, Mantsha, Mpho and Mahlodi. We went to a seafood restaurant and I told them that probably more than half of you at home in the states have no idea how beautiful and modern some places here in South Africa are. So they demanded we take a picture so you all can get a better idea of what this corner of Africa is like =) SO here is a picture from the evening:
After enjoying their wonderful company, I came back to my place and began packing for the next big adventure! In the morning, I would be leaving for a few days in Cape Town! How can one spend an entire year in South Africa without at least seeing the beautiful city known as "The Mother City". So I was off to experience this awesome city that I have heard feels nothing like the rest of South Africa.
On Saturday, May 28th, I landed in Cape Town and was immediately struck by the beauty of the city between an ocean and a mountain! Gorgeous. The weather for my 5 days and 4 nights there was not ideal but that's why it's called the off-season! I was appreciative of the lowered prices for accommodation and most attractions. And I got to see most of the big attractions in the city including a trip up Table Mountain, a tour of the Cape Winelands, a ride through Camps Bay, many museums in town, the infamous Long Street and the penguins of Boulders Beach on the southern peninsula.
And yes, I was traveling alone! I was a little bit worried about it but I think that just as in any other major city in the world, one simply just needs to be smart about things. I was just fine for my stay in Cape Town and I enjoyed the freedom of doing things by myself! I could change my mind at any moment about what I was going to do next or what I was going to have for dinner. =) It was sort of nice not having to consult with a travel buddy. Figuring everything out on my own also made me feel very independent and accomplished.
By the end of my trip there though, I was missing Johannesburg! Which, when I said this to a man in a restaurant in the city, made him laugh uncontrollably for about five minutes "You miss JOBURG??? Seriously??? You're telling me you're in Cape Town right now and you MISS Joburg." Hahaha. Seriously though! Joburg has such character and a much more "African" vibe if I can say that... Fruit vendors, people yelling, music in the streets, almost getting hit by taxis... there was nothing like it in Cape Town! =)
It was a nice escape to experience this metropolitan city. Parts of it felt like NYC or a european city... but I was glad to get back to my friends and my life in Joburg.
I hope to post pictures of my Cape Town adventures some time next week! =)
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Tick tock... living in the moment
When I arrived here at my placement site in September of last year, I watched clocks and calenders a lot. I counted the days to our first all-volunteer retreat. I counted until Christmas. I counted until July when we would travel home. I thought about that first day back and what it would be like. Especially as I was challenged in the early months, I thought about how long the year would be and what things would be like at the end... would I be SO ready to go? Would I be begging to stay? It was almost impossible for me to imagine.
I also watched clocks a lot because the pace of life seemed so different from what I was used to. Everything moved so much slower. (Little did I know that I was in one of the fastest areas of the country and some of my fellow volunteers were experiencing a MUCH more dramatic slow-down!) Getting used to "Just now" was challenging; waiting for what felt like an eternity for a taxi to fill up or having someone walk away saying "I'll be back just now" and then waiting for up to 30 or 45 minutes took a while to get used to. Coming from a culture of now means NOW and "Time is money" it was culture shock and it took me a long time to acclimate.
Slowly but surely, I have come to love this country's pace. I find myself rarely irritated by having to wait. Sometimes I have moments where I really can't believe how much I've changed. Like when I wait over 2 hours for someone to pick me up, for a taxi to leave or for someone to call me and I don't get the least bit irritated. Now, I was a bit abnormal in this respect before I even came to South Africa... I didn't mind traffic too much (especially on a beautiful day! Roll down the windows and turn up the music!) I also didn't mind lines and the grocery store or post office. It is what it is, right?
But South Africa has taught me patience to the EXTREME. Things happen when they happen. People arrive when they arrive. There's no use in freaking out about having to wait for something, because it will do no good. Better to just take out your book (always have a book with you!) and enjoy the day.
I also don't count the days so much. My family is counting for me now. =) They know exactly how many weeks and days (maybe even hours and minutes!) until I step of the plane. For me though, that day will be SO awesome and yet so sad. I'm very, VERY much looking forward to seeing family and friends who I love dearly and miss tremendously. But coming back to the states means leaving this country that has become my home and the friends here that have become my family. It means leaving a place that has taught me so much about independence and interdependence. It means leaving a life that I love and people that I love even more.
This year has not been a "trip" to Africa. This has been a year of my life in an extraordinary country. I have been challenged, I've learned, I've laughed, I've cried and I've grown so much as a person. So, I'm not counting anymore... at least I'm trying not to. I'm embracing each day as an opportunity to love this life, this place and these people. I hope you are doing the same... wherever you are, whoever you are with and whatever you are doing- love the day, love the moment. Life is too unpredictable to not.
Having July 13th on the horizon as the last day at my site is somewhat scary and foreboding because I know much is going to change when this year ends. But it's also a blessing in a way to know how precious these days here are. And I'm loving each one. Each conversation I have becomes precious. Each moment with my friends is one I enjoy and value. I am loving each day and living as though it is my last... are you?
I also watched clocks a lot because the pace of life seemed so different from what I was used to. Everything moved so much slower. (Little did I know that I was in one of the fastest areas of the country and some of my fellow volunteers were experiencing a MUCH more dramatic slow-down!) Getting used to "Just now" was challenging; waiting for what felt like an eternity for a taxi to fill up or having someone walk away saying "I'll be back just now" and then waiting for up to 30 or 45 minutes took a while to get used to. Coming from a culture of now means NOW and "Time is money" it was culture shock and it took me a long time to acclimate.
Slowly but surely, I have come to love this country's pace. I find myself rarely irritated by having to wait. Sometimes I have moments where I really can't believe how much I've changed. Like when I wait over 2 hours for someone to pick me up, for a taxi to leave or for someone to call me and I don't get the least bit irritated. Now, I was a bit abnormal in this respect before I even came to South Africa... I didn't mind traffic too much (especially on a beautiful day! Roll down the windows and turn up the music!) I also didn't mind lines and the grocery store or post office. It is what it is, right?
But South Africa has taught me patience to the EXTREME. Things happen when they happen. People arrive when they arrive. There's no use in freaking out about having to wait for something, because it will do no good. Better to just take out your book (always have a book with you!) and enjoy the day.
I also don't count the days so much. My family is counting for me now. =) They know exactly how many weeks and days (maybe even hours and minutes!) until I step of the plane. For me though, that day will be SO awesome and yet so sad. I'm very, VERY much looking forward to seeing family and friends who I love dearly and miss tremendously. But coming back to the states means leaving this country that has become my home and the friends here that have become my family. It means leaving a place that has taught me so much about independence and interdependence. It means leaving a life that I love and people that I love even more.
This year has not been a "trip" to Africa. This has been a year of my life in an extraordinary country. I have been challenged, I've learned, I've laughed, I've cried and I've grown so much as a person. So, I'm not counting anymore... at least I'm trying not to. I'm embracing each day as an opportunity to love this life, this place and these people. I hope you are doing the same... wherever you are, whoever you are with and whatever you are doing- love the day, love the moment. Life is too unpredictable to not.
Having July 13th on the horizon as the last day at my site is somewhat scary and foreboding because I know much is going to change when this year ends. But it's also a blessing in a way to know how precious these days here are. And I'm loving each one. Each conversation I have becomes precious. Each moment with my friends is one I enjoy and value. I am loving each day and living as though it is my last... are you?
Monday, May 16, 2011
All while God weeps...
*Disclaimer* I’m fine everyone! Sorry for 2 depressing posts in a row, I promise everything is 100% terrific! =) Just some things I’ve been thinking about recently.
I’ve never really been a big fan of the death penalty. Maybe it was that I saw the movie “The Green Mile” a little too early in my life and the injustice of it all bothered me deeply. Or maybe it’s just because as an excessively philosophical child, I could never wrap my mind around the backwards logic of it all. “You killed someone, so we’re going to kill you to teach everyone that killing is wrong.”
My Dad probably loves me and my siblings more than any father ever loved his child. (Which was embarrassing when we got into highschool and it wasn’t cool to get along with your parents anymore… but he persisted and put up with all of our teenage-ways.) Anyway, I remember him telling my siblings and me that if anybody ever messed with us that he would have no mercy. He would seek the death penalty and if the government failed to deliver, he’d have no problem taking justice into his own hands. Now that’s love.
I recently heard it said that “Anger is the sister of love”. So, when we love someone and their rights are violated, their life is taken from them or they are otherwise damaged, the appropriate response is anger; anger at the situation, anger at the perpetrator and so on. So when my Dad says his anger would rule him if someone were to hurt those he loves, it’s not really an expression of extreme irrationality, but an expression of extreme love.
I watch a lot of Oprah here in South Africa… Not at all something I was expecting would be a part of my life this year, but it is! The other day, she was interviewing a man whose entire family was tortured and killed in their Connecticut home about 4 years ago. He woke up in the hospital as the lone survivor of the incident and had nothing left. Even the home the horrible event had occurred in had been burned. About mid-way through the interview, Oprah clumsily asked about forgiveness and whether or not the man felt the need to forgive the men who did this. The heart-broken man explained that he doesn’t believe the pure essence of evil should be forgiven and that it would be inappropriate to do so. And Oprah replied “I love that answer.”
Sorry Oprah… I don’t love that answer.
In Desmond Tutu’s book “God Has a Dream” he writes of the brutal apartheid system;
“As we listened to accounts of truly monstrous deeds of torture and cruelty, it would have been easy to dismiss the perpetrators as monsters because their deeds were truly monstrous. But we are reminded that God’s love is not cut off from anyone. However diabolical the act, it does not turn the perpetrator into a demon. When we proclaim that someone is subhuman, we not only remove for them the possibility of change and repentance, we also remove from them moral responsibility.” (Page 10-11)
Thus if we refuse to recognize perpetrators of evil as humans… as God’s children who have gone horrifically astray, we release them of their moral responsibility and we release ourselves from the experience of looking at something which is terribly unpleasant and reveals a truth about human nature that we may not want to face. We don’t want to see such evil as being part of us. We don’t want to think that we have the potential to be that.
As we stand in the glow of the Easter season and hear the message that Christ has risen. As we sing “Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?” and hear that death has been conquered, are we not conflicted? Are we not confused when we turn on our TVs and see people celebrating death? Not celebrating life. Not celebrating the conquering power of the cross… but celebrating death.
Last week, the news of Osama Bin Laden’s death hit me like a ton of bricks. At the time, I was cut off from regular communication with the outside world. I was in a very rural area of Kwa-Zulu Natal, the Southeast province of South Africa, when a fellow American friend I was with got a call from someone in the states telling us that Bin Laden had been killed… and Americans were in the streets celebrating. From that moment on, we received a barrage of questions from South Africans about why Americans were celebrating. We didn’t know what to say.
I won’t celebrate death. Osama Bin Laden acted in ways that make my stomach turn and my heart sink. To know that one man could create such destruction and could perpetuate such evil is heart-breaking. However, our God is a God of reconciliation and of peace. A God of unity and of love. Our God loves each one of us because we are His own children. I believe that God wept when Bin Laden masterminded plots that killed thousands of innocent people. But I also believe that He wept when Bin Laden, His child, was killed. And now the cycle of hate continues and at least 80 more lives have been lost in Pakistan in an attempt to avenge the death of Bin Laden. When will it end? (http://edition.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/asiapcf/05/12/pakistan.explosions/index.html?hpt=T1)
My Dad would kill for those he loves. But if the situation was such that one of his children killed the other, would he still seek the death penalty for the perpetrating child? One child who he loves so dearly has taken the life of the other who he loved equally as much. He would weep. He would find himself horribly conflicted and in an unnaturally terrible position. This is the state that God finds Himself in. His children are killing each other. They are celebrating the death of their brother. They are dancing in the streets in victory. All while God weeps.
I’ve never really been a big fan of the death penalty. Maybe it was that I saw the movie “The Green Mile” a little too early in my life and the injustice of it all bothered me deeply. Or maybe it’s just because as an excessively philosophical child, I could never wrap my mind around the backwards logic of it all. “You killed someone, so we’re going to kill you to teach everyone that killing is wrong.”
My Dad probably loves me and my siblings more than any father ever loved his child. (Which was embarrassing when we got into highschool and it wasn’t cool to get along with your parents anymore… but he persisted and put up with all of our teenage-ways.) Anyway, I remember him telling my siblings and me that if anybody ever messed with us that he would have no mercy. He would seek the death penalty and if the government failed to deliver, he’d have no problem taking justice into his own hands. Now that’s love.
I recently heard it said that “Anger is the sister of love”. So, when we love someone and their rights are violated, their life is taken from them or they are otherwise damaged, the appropriate response is anger; anger at the situation, anger at the perpetrator and so on. So when my Dad says his anger would rule him if someone were to hurt those he loves, it’s not really an expression of extreme irrationality, but an expression of extreme love.
I watch a lot of Oprah here in South Africa… Not at all something I was expecting would be a part of my life this year, but it is! The other day, she was interviewing a man whose entire family was tortured and killed in their Connecticut home about 4 years ago. He woke up in the hospital as the lone survivor of the incident and had nothing left. Even the home the horrible event had occurred in had been burned. About mid-way through the interview, Oprah clumsily asked about forgiveness and whether or not the man felt the need to forgive the men who did this. The heart-broken man explained that he doesn’t believe the pure essence of evil should be forgiven and that it would be inappropriate to do so. And Oprah replied “I love that answer.”
Sorry Oprah… I don’t love that answer.
In Desmond Tutu’s book “God Has a Dream” he writes of the brutal apartheid system;
“As we listened to accounts of truly monstrous deeds of torture and cruelty, it would have been easy to dismiss the perpetrators as monsters because their deeds were truly monstrous. But we are reminded that God’s love is not cut off from anyone. However diabolical the act, it does not turn the perpetrator into a demon. When we proclaim that someone is subhuman, we not only remove for them the possibility of change and repentance, we also remove from them moral responsibility.” (Page 10-11)
Thus if we refuse to recognize perpetrators of evil as humans… as God’s children who have gone horrifically astray, we release them of their moral responsibility and we release ourselves from the experience of looking at something which is terribly unpleasant and reveals a truth about human nature that we may not want to face. We don’t want to see such evil as being part of us. We don’t want to think that we have the potential to be that.
As we stand in the glow of the Easter season and hear the message that Christ has risen. As we sing “Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?” and hear that death has been conquered, are we not conflicted? Are we not confused when we turn on our TVs and see people celebrating death? Not celebrating life. Not celebrating the conquering power of the cross… but celebrating death.
Last week, the news of Osama Bin Laden’s death hit me like a ton of bricks. At the time, I was cut off from regular communication with the outside world. I was in a very rural area of Kwa-Zulu Natal, the Southeast province of South Africa, when a fellow American friend I was with got a call from someone in the states telling us that Bin Laden had been killed… and Americans were in the streets celebrating. From that moment on, we received a barrage of questions from South Africans about why Americans were celebrating. We didn’t know what to say.
I won’t celebrate death. Osama Bin Laden acted in ways that make my stomach turn and my heart sink. To know that one man could create such destruction and could perpetuate such evil is heart-breaking. However, our God is a God of reconciliation and of peace. A God of unity and of love. Our God loves each one of us because we are His own children. I believe that God wept when Bin Laden masterminded plots that killed thousands of innocent people. But I also believe that He wept when Bin Laden, His child, was killed. And now the cycle of hate continues and at least 80 more lives have been lost in Pakistan in an attempt to avenge the death of Bin Laden. When will it end? (http://edition.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/asiapcf/05/12/pakistan.explosions/index.html?hpt=T1)
My Dad would kill for those he loves. But if the situation was such that one of his children killed the other, would he still seek the death penalty for the perpetrating child? One child who he loves so dearly has taken the life of the other who he loved equally as much. He would weep. He would find himself horribly conflicted and in an unnaturally terrible position. This is the state that God finds Himself in. His children are killing each other. They are celebrating the death of their brother. They are dancing in the streets in victory. All while God weeps.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Tears and dancing
I stand in a sea of South Africans. We are singing. Men have lined up in front of us and about 10 of them have picked up shovels working their way through a pile of dirt about 6 feet high. The orange sand is slowly filling the large rectangular hole in the ground at their feet. As I stare at the pile slowly diminishing, I start to cry. It’s an eerie scene as our sea of people merges with a sea just to our left… fellow mourners, also singing and watching men from their group fill another 6 foot deep hole just 2 graves away. The men are shoveling with such force and fury that I can’t help but see the anger that they must be feeling. Some men have to be forced to relinquish their shovels so another man in the group can take his turn. In just 10 or 15 minutes, both graves are filled and the excess dirt is piled in a mound over where the coffin lays 6 feet under.
When both graves are filled, the singing is stopped. One pastor speaks to both groups in a language I can’t understand. Then, our group has a spokesman who says some final words about the deceased… again addressing both groups. The other group does the same- their spokesman also talking to the entire crowd. Finally, a pastor gives the benediction to all assembled “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit, be with you all. Amen.” And we all depart.
I’ve never seen a graveside service like this. In my experiences in the states, it’s usually a very private time. Not everyone who went to the funeral would go to the graveside… it seems like a more private time for family and friends. The family is front and center and usually has front row seats. Also, if there is another funeral going on in the cemetery, it’s usually at least several rows away and the family is given their own personal bubble. I also know people who don’t like seeing the casket being lowered into the ground at the end of the service because it’s so physically final.
However, in this case, the first order of business was the burial. Mourners were the ones filling the grave. The family was set back from the grave and probably could see very little of what was happening. We combined with the group next to us and as we left, there was a row of open graves waiting to be filled later that day.
How have I lived here in South Africa for so long without experiencing a funeral? Perhaps I have been fortunate. Death is a significant part of life here… something that is experienced often. Additionally, I suspect that because of the anti-apartheid struggle and the HIV/Aids pandemic, the death of young people is also a rather familiar and frequent occurrence.
Perhaps it was a fortunate thing that I was able to live here for so long without attending a funeral. However, I felt I was at a huge disadvantage on Good Friday when I experienced what felt like a huge dose of culture shock as people danced and sang in celebration on a day that has always felt like the ultimate funeral to me. I have memories of Good Friday being somber, mournful, dark and quiet. However, as I went to church for the entire day on Good Friday, it was a day of celebration! People were dancing in the aisles of the church, singing, playing instruments and to me it just didn’t feel right!
After attending this funeral over the weekend, I understand a little better what was happening on Good Friday. At the funeral itself, there was a lot of dancing and singing and it was far less depressing than funerals I’ve been to in the states. The man who died was rather young and left a large family. Yet people were there to celebrate his life and rejoice in God’s promises for making us whole despite the brokenness and injustice of this world.
Why these differences? Why do we as Americans cry so much at our funerals? Why don’t we like seeing the grave being filled? Why do we like our graveside experience to be so private and closed off? Perhaps it is because death is such a significant part of life in this culture and people are less afraid of it. Perhaps it is because the entire culture is more focused on community and death is understood as being a part of our human condition.
I’m not sure what it is exactly. All I know is that as tears fell from my eyes at the grave of a man I had never met, I looked around me and saw the sea of South Africans dancing and singing… this man’s friends, family and co-workers. I saw a range of emotions; joy, anger, numbness. But above all else, I saw a community. Some were strangers, some friends, and some would never see each other again. But all were united in the understanding that death affects us all and is part of our experience as humans. And in response to that reality, we stood among the graves dancing together.
When both graves are filled, the singing is stopped. One pastor speaks to both groups in a language I can’t understand. Then, our group has a spokesman who says some final words about the deceased… again addressing both groups. The other group does the same- their spokesman also talking to the entire crowd. Finally, a pastor gives the benediction to all assembled “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit, be with you all. Amen.” And we all depart.
I’ve never seen a graveside service like this. In my experiences in the states, it’s usually a very private time. Not everyone who went to the funeral would go to the graveside… it seems like a more private time for family and friends. The family is front and center and usually has front row seats. Also, if there is another funeral going on in the cemetery, it’s usually at least several rows away and the family is given their own personal bubble. I also know people who don’t like seeing the casket being lowered into the ground at the end of the service because it’s so physically final.
However, in this case, the first order of business was the burial. Mourners were the ones filling the grave. The family was set back from the grave and probably could see very little of what was happening. We combined with the group next to us and as we left, there was a row of open graves waiting to be filled later that day.
How have I lived here in South Africa for so long without experiencing a funeral? Perhaps I have been fortunate. Death is a significant part of life here… something that is experienced often. Additionally, I suspect that because of the anti-apartheid struggle and the HIV/Aids pandemic, the death of young people is also a rather familiar and frequent occurrence.
Perhaps it was a fortunate thing that I was able to live here for so long without attending a funeral. However, I felt I was at a huge disadvantage on Good Friday when I experienced what felt like a huge dose of culture shock as people danced and sang in celebration on a day that has always felt like the ultimate funeral to me. I have memories of Good Friday being somber, mournful, dark and quiet. However, as I went to church for the entire day on Good Friday, it was a day of celebration! People were dancing in the aisles of the church, singing, playing instruments and to me it just didn’t feel right!
After attending this funeral over the weekend, I understand a little better what was happening on Good Friday. At the funeral itself, there was a lot of dancing and singing and it was far less depressing than funerals I’ve been to in the states. The man who died was rather young and left a large family. Yet people were there to celebrate his life and rejoice in God’s promises for making us whole despite the brokenness and injustice of this world.
Why these differences? Why do we as Americans cry so much at our funerals? Why don’t we like seeing the grave being filled? Why do we like our graveside experience to be so private and closed off? Perhaps it is because death is such a significant part of life in this culture and people are less afraid of it. Perhaps it is because the entire culture is more focused on community and death is understood as being a part of our human condition.
I’m not sure what it is exactly. All I know is that as tears fell from my eyes at the grave of a man I had never met, I looked around me and saw the sea of South Africans dancing and singing… this man’s friends, family and co-workers. I saw a range of emotions; joy, anger, numbness. But above all else, I saw a community. Some were strangers, some friends, and some would never see each other again. But all were united in the understanding that death affects us all and is part of our experience as humans. And in response to that reality, we stood among the graves dancing together.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
What it means to be white
Never before coming here to South Africa did I really have to think about what it means to be white. Sure, I had a few friends in grade school who could be considered “students of color” and in college, I was constantly frustrated by the homogeneous nature of our college’s campus (rated the 7th most homogeneous school in the country, in fact). But beyond that… beyond dreaming up ways to include the minority or to celebrate diversity I never was forced to think about my race and what it meant to be white in this world.
I recently shared this observation and experience with a group of black South African youth at a parish I was visiting for the weekend. We had been talking about the differences between my experiences at home and my experiences here and I told them that never before had I been a racial minority. I had never had to think about my race so much. I had no idea what kind of reaction I was about to get. Jaws dropped and I was asked “Really?” about 10 times. It was unfathomable to these young people between 14 and 25 that I had never really thought about being white.
Here, race has the potential to be discussed nearly anywhere; with secular conferencing groups at the center where I stay, on taxis with people who are curious about who I am, and even on street corners with people who claim they have never seen an “mlungu” (white person) around here before. While this can occasionally be suffocating, most days I find it very refreshing. It’s nice to be able to talk to people openly about the issues of race in South Africa and the world.
Most people, when they find me in a place they don’t typically see white people, begin fishing for the thing that makes me different. Usually, I’m initially asked if I’m lost or if I need help getting somewhere. Then I’m asked where I live, what work I do, etc. Finally, they get to what they are looking for; I’m a foreigner. To them, they have figured it out… because according to their understanding, South African white citizens would never venture into such places; into townships, on taxis etc.
Unfortunately, I have in some ways fallen into this rhythm; this way of thinking. I expect white South Africans to cringe when I say I am taking a taxi to Kempton Park by myself. “Aren’t you afraid?” I am asked, “Have you ever had a problem?” To which I reply that I am not afraid, I’ve never had a problem and actually, I quite enjoy taking taxis. In some ways, I like defying their expectations and showing them a truth some have never seen before. I like being different.
I was beginning to feel comfortable, special and like I was breaking down barriers, when just then- I was hit squarely in the face with the reality of my own racism; my racism towards white people. Some might want to call it reverse racism... but this is a term I refuse to use. Racism is racism. The pre-judgment of another person based solely on their skin color.
At the arts school where I have been volunteering with music instruction, I went to talk to Mr. Kok, one of the few white teachers at the school who teaches vocal lessons. I knew he was a good man from several conversations we had had about the school, the students and how much he enjoyed his job there. However, I was skeptical and very curious about his past… how did such a skilled, experienced, white musician come to be teaching students from townships in Eastern Johannesburg how to sing? Our conversation started on his topic of research, music education. He wanted to know about our system of study in the states. So, I shared with him what little I knew about music education from my experiences in college and then somehow we ended up on a tangent about his education and experiences with music programs at township schools. He told me stories that nearly made me cry; about gunfire he nearly got caught in during the anti-apartheid uprising, death threats he received because of going on tour with his choir, even being held hostage with other teachers. He has been teaching primarily in black schools for more that 25 years. When I asked him bluntly to tell me what he thought made him different or what shaped his ideas about race, he replied with another story about a black domestic worker with whom he had grown up and as a child had learned to respect as his own mother. He then continued, “I’ve just always looked at people regardless of color, age, whatever as children of God.”
It was at this moment that I realized that this man was truly breaking down barriers and was shining as a true beacon of hope and truth. By living his life in a way that honored each and every person regardless of their situation and not doing it to feel special or different, Mr. Kok has bridged major gaps and his accomplishments are only possible because of great amounts of love. I’m reminded of the verses from 1 Corinthians that are always read at weddings, “Love is patient, love is kind.” But perhaps more importantly “Love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong-doing but rejoices with the truth.”
How many times do we boast in the name of “love”? How often are we insistent on having things our way and end up acting arrogantly to pave the way for “love”? For me, feeling like I was breaking down barriers was more about my own validation that I was making a difference than it was about truly loving people. It was more about me being a “different kind of white person” than it was about building relationships with all people. Have I been loving white South Africans in the same way I have been loving black South Africans? I cannot say I have. I often feel uncomfortable with white South Africans. I feel judgmental and I feel judged. I feel like I need to be different and prove to the strangers around me that I’m different. But this is not what we are called to as Christians.
When I think about what would be the Christ-like way to handle this situation, I think of the Pharisees. People who Jesus had little desire to take after. Jesus, as a religious leader was probably grouped with them during his early ministry. (However, one would only have to stick around for a minute or two to see that he was actually, radically different!) How did Christ set himself apart and point out the flaws in their perspective while still genuinely loving them and guiding them? I believe it’s probably impossible for us to do this as successfully as Christ did, but I’m reminded of a part in the liturgy here that I have come to love (when I hear it in English of course). This line in the liturgy states that we worship, we love, we confess “not as we ought, but as we are able.”
We must do our best to love others as we are able, even if we will fall short. We must truly and genuinely love those who we disagree with and those whose perspectives we believe are flawed. We must stand for what we believe in while simultaneously loving those who stand against us. And we must not assume we know what people stand for because of how they look. We must always put unity ahead of our own desires to feel different. This doesn’t mean becoming apathetic in an effort to keep the peace, but it means making love the top priority and the number one goal in all interactions.
I’m still learning what it means to be white. But even more importantly, I’m learning what it means to be a follower of Christ.
This blog entry was written for the ELCA MUD3 blog, which can be viewed at: http://elcamud.blogspot.com/
I recently shared this observation and experience with a group of black South African youth at a parish I was visiting for the weekend. We had been talking about the differences between my experiences at home and my experiences here and I told them that never before had I been a racial minority. I had never had to think about my race so much. I had no idea what kind of reaction I was about to get. Jaws dropped and I was asked “Really?” about 10 times. It was unfathomable to these young people between 14 and 25 that I had never really thought about being white.
Here, race has the potential to be discussed nearly anywhere; with secular conferencing groups at the center where I stay, on taxis with people who are curious about who I am, and even on street corners with people who claim they have never seen an “mlungu” (white person) around here before. While this can occasionally be suffocating, most days I find it very refreshing. It’s nice to be able to talk to people openly about the issues of race in South Africa and the world.
Most people, when they find me in a place they don’t typically see white people, begin fishing for the thing that makes me different. Usually, I’m initially asked if I’m lost or if I need help getting somewhere. Then I’m asked where I live, what work I do, etc. Finally, they get to what they are looking for; I’m a foreigner. To them, they have figured it out… because according to their understanding, South African white citizens would never venture into such places; into townships, on taxis etc.
Unfortunately, I have in some ways fallen into this rhythm; this way of thinking. I expect white South Africans to cringe when I say I am taking a taxi to Kempton Park by myself. “Aren’t you afraid?” I am asked, “Have you ever had a problem?” To which I reply that I am not afraid, I’ve never had a problem and actually, I quite enjoy taking taxis. In some ways, I like defying their expectations and showing them a truth some have never seen before. I like being different.
I was beginning to feel comfortable, special and like I was breaking down barriers, when just then- I was hit squarely in the face with the reality of my own racism; my racism towards white people. Some might want to call it reverse racism... but this is a term I refuse to use. Racism is racism. The pre-judgment of another person based solely on their skin color.
At the arts school where I have been volunteering with music instruction, I went to talk to Mr. Kok, one of the few white teachers at the school who teaches vocal lessons. I knew he was a good man from several conversations we had had about the school, the students and how much he enjoyed his job there. However, I was skeptical and very curious about his past… how did such a skilled, experienced, white musician come to be teaching students from townships in Eastern Johannesburg how to sing? Our conversation started on his topic of research, music education. He wanted to know about our system of study in the states. So, I shared with him what little I knew about music education from my experiences in college and then somehow we ended up on a tangent about his education and experiences with music programs at township schools. He told me stories that nearly made me cry; about gunfire he nearly got caught in during the anti-apartheid uprising, death threats he received because of going on tour with his choir, even being held hostage with other teachers. He has been teaching primarily in black schools for more that 25 years. When I asked him bluntly to tell me what he thought made him different or what shaped his ideas about race, he replied with another story about a black domestic worker with whom he had grown up and as a child had learned to respect as his own mother. He then continued, “I’ve just always looked at people regardless of color, age, whatever as children of God.”
It was at this moment that I realized that this man was truly breaking down barriers and was shining as a true beacon of hope and truth. By living his life in a way that honored each and every person regardless of their situation and not doing it to feel special or different, Mr. Kok has bridged major gaps and his accomplishments are only possible because of great amounts of love. I’m reminded of the verses from 1 Corinthians that are always read at weddings, “Love is patient, love is kind.” But perhaps more importantly “Love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong-doing but rejoices with the truth.”
How many times do we boast in the name of “love”? How often are we insistent on having things our way and end up acting arrogantly to pave the way for “love”? For me, feeling like I was breaking down barriers was more about my own validation that I was making a difference than it was about truly loving people. It was more about me being a “different kind of white person” than it was about building relationships with all people. Have I been loving white South Africans in the same way I have been loving black South Africans? I cannot say I have. I often feel uncomfortable with white South Africans. I feel judgmental and I feel judged. I feel like I need to be different and prove to the strangers around me that I’m different. But this is not what we are called to as Christians.
When I think about what would be the Christ-like way to handle this situation, I think of the Pharisees. People who Jesus had little desire to take after. Jesus, as a religious leader was probably grouped with them during his early ministry. (However, one would only have to stick around for a minute or two to see that he was actually, radically different!) How did Christ set himself apart and point out the flaws in their perspective while still genuinely loving them and guiding them? I believe it’s probably impossible for us to do this as successfully as Christ did, but I’m reminded of a part in the liturgy here that I have come to love (when I hear it in English of course). This line in the liturgy states that we worship, we love, we confess “not as we ought, but as we are able.”
We must do our best to love others as we are able, even if we will fall short. We must truly and genuinely love those who we disagree with and those whose perspectives we believe are flawed. We must stand for what we believe in while simultaneously loving those who stand against us. And we must not assume we know what people stand for because of how they look. We must always put unity ahead of our own desires to feel different. This doesn’t mean becoming apathetic in an effort to keep the peace, but it means making love the top priority and the number one goal in all interactions.
I’m still learning what it means to be white. But even more importantly, I’m learning what it means to be a follower of Christ.
This blog entry was written for the ELCA MUD3 blog, which can be viewed at: http://elcamud.blogspot.com/
Monday, April 4, 2011
A discovered prayer
There is so much in church I do not understand. Much of the liturgy is in either Isizulu or Sesotho, depending on the congregation I am visiting that week and often the sermon is a mix between English and the parish's language. However, yesterday, as I sat in church enjoying the harmonies and sang along with the parts of the service I knew, I was suddenly handed a booklet I had never seen before. An order of service! With the liturgy written out! In English!
I knew we were at the confession and forgiveness which the gogo (granny) who had handed it to me had the book opened to. So I followed along with the English as the congregation sang in Sesotho "Lord have mercy on us."
Then we came to a prayer. A prayer that I have probably heard prayed tons of times here. But this was the first time I was exposed to its meaning in English. I was so moved by it that I copied it down. Part of it read:
"Grant this congregation all that is needed for its spiritual welfare;
Strengthen and increase the faithful;
visit and relieve the sick;
rouse the careless;
restore the fallen and penitent;
remove all hindrances to the advancement of the truth;
and bring all to be of one heart and mind within the fold of thy holy church."
What a beautiful prayer! For strength, restoration, truth, healing, unity and rousing from apathy. This is what OUR Church is praying for.
More and more, I find my ideas changing here. My ideas about faith, what it means to be a follower of Christ and a lover of justice and what our vision as Christians should be. To love across all borders and barriers; to strive for truth, justice and unity in our world; to hate apathy and carelessness and to put an end to all division... this should be our vision. And this prayer gives me hope in our ability to align our will with the will of God and bring this vision to pass.
I knew we were at the confession and forgiveness which the gogo (granny) who had handed it to me had the book opened to. So I followed along with the English as the congregation sang in Sesotho "Lord have mercy on us."
Then we came to a prayer. A prayer that I have probably heard prayed tons of times here. But this was the first time I was exposed to its meaning in English. I was so moved by it that I copied it down. Part of it read:
"Grant this congregation all that is needed for its spiritual welfare;
Strengthen and increase the faithful;
visit and relieve the sick;
rouse the careless;
restore the fallen and penitent;
remove all hindrances to the advancement of the truth;
and bring all to be of one heart and mind within the fold of thy holy church."
What a beautiful prayer! For strength, restoration, truth, healing, unity and rousing from apathy. This is what OUR Church is praying for.
More and more, I find my ideas changing here. My ideas about faith, what it means to be a follower of Christ and a lover of justice and what our vision as Christians should be. To love across all borders and barriers; to strive for truth, justice and unity in our world; to hate apathy and carelessness and to put an end to all division... this should be our vision. And this prayer gives me hope in our ability to align our will with the will of God and bring this vision to pass.
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