Have you ever felt like the first day of a journey sets the tone for the entire adventure itself? Well, if you could have been a fly on the wall for my third connecting flight from home to Kenya, you would have discovered, dear reader, that these several months will be a test of my mettle. If you know me well, you'll hear the story one day, but suffice it to say, I was fairly certain the Lord was either testing me or I was being Punk'd. Either way, I think I breathed a sigh of relief as I was enveloped in the arms of the pastor's wife, Margaret, upon exiting the airport.
Today marks one month in East Africa. There are so many things to share and yet if you could see the sweet monotony of my everyday life, perhaps you would think this blog post will be short. However, brevity is not my middle name and one must never underestimate how well I use my powers of imagination. In order to retain your full attention, I've decided to just share with you what I've learned as I've been riding the wave of acclimation.
My first few days in Kenya were less of a slow integration and more of a diving into the deep end. No sooner had the contents of my suitcase hit the cupboard than I agreed to preach at a ladies' conference that first Saturday. I have never preached before in my life, but the confidence people place in my "far-reaching" teaching abilities is astounding. This is supposed to be an adventure, so I knew I must try.
As I tried to wrap my head around how I would have something valuable to share with women in a different culture and with different societal expectations, I visited my sister school in town. Again, people's confidence in me was great and I found myself agreeing to teach Math, English, French, and Music. I'll let you guess which of those subjects I've never taught and which ones I haven't taught in 6 years. As I stood before the entire student body, whispers of "mzungu" (white person) filled the air. I thought I'd go for the direct approach in introducing myself: "Hi, I'm Teacher Jennifer. Yes, I AM very tall and yes, we do have sun in Canada. I just don't get to see it very often." There, I had dealt with the elephant in the room. Oh, not so fast, Jennifer. The head teacher spoke after me, reviewing the key points of my introduction, but adding his own flair:
"So, Teacher Jennifer is very (stretching his hand high in the air)..."
The children responded with gusto, "Tall".
"And your head teacher is very (lowering his hand significantly)..."
"Short!"
"And Teacher Jennifer is very (widening the gap between his hands)..."
The children responded only too eagerly, "Fat!" Well, I guess I'm not in Canada anymore.
It actually was a very positive introduction to the school and I've been looking forward, with nervous anticipation, to starting there next week.
Saturday approached quickly and after fervent prayers, I had settled on speaking about Mary and Martha. It seemed appropriate with Sunday being Easter. After some research, I decided to speak about the concept of Martha's work being good, but Mary doing what the Lord called "better". I encouraged the women to prioritize and cling to their first love and as I prayed for them at the end of the talk, I was moved by God's deep love for them. After the conference, we shared a meal together and I had a few great conversations. One person told me that I spoke like the mother of three children, which I think is the equivalent of, "You were a wise and confident speaker." I'll tell myself that for now.
Speaking of being a mother, I continue to fascinate people by the fact that I am 33 years-old, childless, and unmarried. Their looks of chagrin are often quickly replaced by the calm assurance that I possibly still have a good 12 birthing years left in me. It's actually been a great opportunity to speak confidently about how God gives us all seasons in our life and while, yes, that is something that I still want to happen, I'm learning to be content and make the most of the time He's given me. It tends to be an answer people respond well to.
Perhaps it is this topic that I will camp on for a while for herein lies the bulk of my lessons in acclimating.
Dear reader, I will confess that I have been at times ungrateful and self-pitying over the fact that I quickly have lost my practical means of independence, am often surrounded by people, and don't have the depth of "recharging" time that I enjoy back home. I have felt alone and lonely at times and have desperately wanted a hug. The latter problem is something that God continues to graciously take care of as he invites me to lean into him in my loneliness. But the first problem took me longer to solve.
Last week, I had the amazing opportunity to travel to Uganda and visit my missionary friends, Adrienne and Francis. I'd wanted to see their wheelchair distribution for so long and this was finally my chance. I brought Margaret along with me and we both experienced the great trek across Kenya by bus. It was interesting for her to see a new culture and language herself, to watch others often sharing their jokes and stories and longing to decipher the meaning of the words. I felt a new kinship with her as she experienced what I had been experiencing in Kenya. Fortunately, people often speak English too and one even spoke her language, so she had an opportunity to be loved and cared for that week.
Spending time with people close to my own age deeply filled part of that loneliness, but I was still slowly processing all that I was hearing and seeing. I began to see a new layer to my privilege and felt gratitude, guilt, and sadness all at once. As I heard my new friends share their stories of trying to lead missionary lives and find partners, I realized that my education, independence, and career were all deep sources of privilege. In Canada, I never have to wonder if someone will love me or not for my wealth. I never have to worry that I didn't go to the right university. I don't even have to worry about finding someone to take care of me. My choices in a life partner get to be for love. I get to choose someone who truly sees my worth and I, theirs. I get to make enough money to take care of myself. I don't have to be in a relationship for convenience, safety, or security. I'm not considered ridiculous (in most Canadian circles) for being my age and single. That's not a privilege that some people get to enjoy.
As I spoke with my friend who hears painful stories and watches people crawl in the dust for a wheelchair each month, I felt my heart beat with purpose. I was given the opportunity to share my story as a sister to two people with disabilities during one of the training sessions. I was able to advocate. It rekindled a passion that had been ignited many years ago. Exchanging stories with my new friends and seeing the incredible things they're doing to restore brokeness, to fight for the disenfranchised opened my eyes to a little more of what God is doing in me throughout these next several months. I told one friend a couple of days ago that this trip to Uganda was the evidence of things hoped for.
As we returned to the children's home in Kenya and 30 kids poured out of the house to greet us, I wrapped them each in a hug. This has slowly become my home and being around these children fills my heart with purpose. I feel right now as I did last summer. If all I ever do with my life is make children feel safe and loved and worthy, I can't imagine anything better than that. I don't know in what capacity God will use that desire, but for the month of April it's manifested itself in teaching thirty 2-20 year-olds, playing games, singing songs, dancing, baking a cake in an outdoor oven, having important conversations, and teaching crochet patterns to 8 kids at a time. There have been eager faces springing over my shoulders to be part of my video calls home, little ones huddled around me, cancelling out all personal space as they try to teach me key Swahili phrases, my skin being rubbed and my hair being played with, and children calling my name just to smile at me. I can't put into words the beauty of their smiles or how difficult their lives have been to end up in this children's home. All I can say is I feel grateful to have this time with them.
