Understanding Our Brother's Culture

Culture has always been a word I have used, formally, to describe the current state of my own. Whether it was a newsworthy story seen on TV as I watched NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams as a precocious 13 year old, or a concerning issue in conflict with one's moral framework they felt they just had to share in sabbath school, culture is the basic fabric we stitch together as we seek to define ourselves in the cosmos. In less eloquent terms, it exists as a nametag we attach on our upper left breast to accurately identify ourselves to others. In an age where life seems to be dictated by the endless cry for belonging, culture has manifested itself as the defining element in our human existence. As perfect as we were once created to be before "The Fall", culture as a consequence of human history has transformed how we seek to interact with those around us.

It’s no doubt that our American culture has transformed over the years since its inauguration in 1776. What our founding fathers wrestled with in seeking to construct a nation held together on the premise of religious freedom and free speech, is far from the focus of our present-day leaders when faced with the threat of an tyrannical middle east on their quest for jihad and a financial economy supported by our great grandchildren to come. All politics aside, our generation is nearing a fundamental break point in the value placed on relationships, for I have yet to discover what 18^th century university student struggled with social networking and interpersonal communication, and so I hypothesize that even within this nation's short tenure, our culture has evolved through time. 

In the days of posted telegrams and horse drawn carts, culture was defined more specifically by the excellence of man and the enlightenment of good, rather than the specificities of difference. In every aspect of dress, etiquette, and religious adherence, the nature of one's culture was connected through the mutual understanding of united brotherhood-a mere universal code of honor and respect. Unique as our decedents may have been with one another in belief or aptitude, one could argue they sought to define cultural differences through outright superiority and desirable intelligence as a means for discriminating those who lacked the aforementioned characteristics. It is true that society did have its social classes defined by monetary worth and familial inheritance, but culture did not divide the privileged from the impoverished in matters of understanding like we see today.

As I have come to ascertain the current situation at hand for missions in the field, specifically Africa, I have arrived at one problematic observation noteworthy for allowing effective long lasting work to be accomplished for The Kingdom. As a student missionary this year, the times the other missionaries and I have socialized together between the busyness of the weeks expired have often been spent around Sabbath feasting. It is apparent to me that our sophisticated American, highly technological, business-minded, and litigiously leading culture has played to our disadvantage when striving to build upon our relations with many African people who thirst for strong unwavering bonds. Our expected impact when we arrive on the ground is slightly off the mark. As an example, it has often been said, “the people of Africa are so kind hearted and easy to please and it is just so rejuvenating to see their smiling faces even when they are poor and have nothing.” But what I stand to clarify here is not that they share free smiles and kind regards because of a ‘lack of nothing’ but rather because they belong to a culture so invested in relationships with others. Relationships cannot be purchased and they have long discovered the key to happiness. 

I often visit the local sports club in town where I hold a membership to play golf with my good friend Trent, compete in football friendlies with the other members, and pretend to lift weights. When entering the grounds, one must walk past the front desk and through a corridor which leads to an outdoor restaurant situated on the veranda overlooking the football pitch. Seated behind the glass of the concierge desk usually sits a reserved and gracious young woman who answers questions and resolves member's concerns. Our relationship for a long time consisted merely of short greetings in passing as I would briskly enter the club. Our relationship changed one day, however, when I went to pay for a round of golf. I noticed that she was protruding outwards in a rather natural discourse, through the mid-lower abdominal region. I took the bold leap and asked if she was pregnant to which she very fondly responded with a slightly embarrassed nod and smile. Congratulating her, I asked when she was due and where she would deliver in town. After a short discussion she asked if I would come visit her in the hospital and see her new baby. Puzzled by her exotic request, my mind raced to understand why she would ask me, a stranger, to visit her in the hospital.  I hastily took a mental step backward in my mind as I choked over my next few sentences, earnestly searching for some rational understanding for her request and then it hit me: Blue prints for relationships and culture are not universally alike and who am I to judge?

In my time here I have interacted with only a handful of Malawians as a teacher in this small school, and each encounter with them has further solidified a deepened interest in seeking to better understand their culture. When I first arrived in the country, I was in need of assistance in straightening out my visa situation with a Temporary Employment Permit (TEP). To expedite the matter, it was recommended that I kindly ask the secretary to the Education Director for the Union for her assistance as she had experience with this process many times over with previous expat missionaries. The first several times we conversed, progress in submitting the appropriate paperwork seemed slow and enduring. Little was accomplished and by means of seeking value in her beyond her professional help, we had no relationship. As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, several encounters in the cafeteria of the Adventist Lodge and running into her around town eventually manifested in her remembering my face and eventually my name and before I knew it, I had a brand new minted TEP stamp adorning my passport authorized in full. The process was unrealistically long and arduous but as inconsequential as it seemed, my relationship with her meant the difference in receiving what I needed in order to stay inside the country.

You see, the approach we make coming from a culture influenced by the confines of business mindfulness leaves no room for a meaningful relationship in the midst of accomplishing our intended tasks. I learned that in needing to pay for a round of golf, my potentially ill-advised questions led to the destruction of a superficial barrier that divided common ground and the birth of a simple but cherishable relationship. I learned that in my need for a TEP, going out of my way to acknowledge the secretary and inquiring about her as a person beyond her job, changed her mindset about fulfilling my TEP application. The end result was accomplished and a relationship instilled. I had won them over. 

If we are to be called to missions in other cultures, we must be willing to meet the people where they are, currently, and make a conscious effort to be relationship builders. As for the people of Malawi, it is developing a relationship alongside conducting business that reassures longevity and begins the process of ensuring success in the work we set out to achieve. Coming from a culture in the States where it is not abnormal to work an entire career without caring for a relationship in seemingly inconsequently daily matters, i.e. the receptionist at the doctor’s office, the person on the other end of the 1 800 line for credit card support, or the cashier at your local grocery store, we often lack the need to possess or nurture these simple relationships all while living our selfish lives. In Africa, relationships with people override the demands of work. Money holds attention but relationships lead to successful completion. 

On this here evening within the confines of my mosquito net, this has been a revelation from my experience so far. In this Malawian society that I am immersed in working to further the work of the gospel, it is vital for my small classroom, the expats working in Blantyre Adventist Hospital, and the expats at Malamulo Adventist Hospital, to understand the appropriate approach when making contact with the people of Malawi if we want to excel the work of the church and leave a long lasting vibrant image of who Jesus is through medical ministry. As relationship builders, the fruits of our labor will bear success for years to come.  

Finding Love Through Teaching

The school here in Blantyre rests in the hands of those who have invested time and effort to keep it afloat. Receiving little support from the Union or local church, I’m left with the large task of depositing school fees, maintaining school equipment, and stocking school supplies when needed. And all without a mode of transportation. The attitude I choose to display when I walk out the front door of my little two-room studio in the morning has direct implications on how the school will function and succeed. If I’m organized and prepared, the students receive a somewhat decent education. If I’m disorganized and scatterbrained the students are left sitting at their desks trying to decide how they should interpret my actions. I strive to have lesson plans prepared ahead of time, schedules set in stone, and rules enforced. When the students can arrive knowing their teacher is prudent about their education, holding them accountable with what is expected of them, the time that school is in session can be spent constructively learning. And believe me, students know when you are passing the buck, let me tell ya. 

I never thought I would enjoy the atmosphere of schooling eight and ten year olds. Hearing them posit question after question after question until your head spins and falls off your shoulders from headache and frustration never registered possible. Listening to fighting, arguing, and tattletales all morning long is not what one originally intends to sign up for. But as time has lengthened itself into days, weeks, and months, I have found love amongst the youngsters. I awake in the morning under the protection of my mosquito net atop an uncomfortable three-inch foam mattress, not discouraged or upset that it couldn’t be an hour earlier so I could sleep a little longer, but enthused to get to school to be with my family away from home. It is being in the classroom that gives me a sense of inner joy and happiness. In class, I hold a high level of expectation not to frustrate or discourage, but because I love these kids,  I love my students. I claim to a love the runs deeper than passing out A's on a test or a sticker on a chart.  I claim a love that understands potential and praises growth, and a love that works to foster a successful future. This is the love that Jesus has for me, and it is a love that knows no bounds.

Unfortunately, loving hasn’t always meant smiles and laughs. There have been heart to hearts about cheating on exams in which tears of guilt and humiliation have aptly followed. There have been tears shed when the little one learns he needs to do a few more problems in Math before I say he can go to recess. Watching self desires collide with teacher's instructions as I attempt to navigate their learning has instigated periods of frustration and I’m sure my kids have rolled their eyes, clinched their pencil between their precious little fingers a little bit tighter, dug their feet into the floor beneath their desks, and asked themselves "why, why, why" so many times. In the future, I hope they will reflect upon this year and understand my intentions.

In the beginning, it was incredibly difficult to make seemingly ridiculous instructions or uphold seemingly impossible expectations. I remember when the majority of the school day felt disconnected and useless and there seemed to be a lack of mutual trust between the students and I. In that moment, it was difficult to decide which avenue to follow. To fall forwards against the uphill battle of creating a positive learning environment or to fall backwards, onto the easy road through time which would inevitably be plagued by personal guilt and remorse to come from neglecting the student’s education. As you may have guessed, the grunt work with no end in sight was the ticket to winning over the trust I always had hoped to accomplish.

Through the scrupulous work of answering head spinning questions to the promise of recreation with the completion of schoolwork, I have been able to overcome hardship and distrust at times, opening doors I would have not imagined accomplishing with no formal education in teaching. Nowadays, my students arrive at school in the morning understanding what the day will hold. They recognize what is expected of them and live out a confidence in surpassing the bar I hold them to. They have seen their capabilities displayed through success on cumulative academic exams, attention to detail in artwork, and demanding physical activity. We have grown to share a common trust and a mutual love. 

We must not neglect the minds of those under our care; Instead, we must cultivate and direct their footsteps into a world of unlimited possibility. Showing them the love Jesus actively shows us provides them with a vision of the proper stepping stones on a path towards spending eternity with our loving Creator, the greatest teacher of all time!

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day has long been a cherished day in our culture. We buy chocolate, exchange letters of self-proclaimed love and affection for those we adore, but most importantly it is the significance of remembering those who have made us feel this way that makes the day so special. In an elementary school setting, the concept of Valentine's Day is yet to be fully understood. The boys expel grunts and groans when girls present them with hand-decorated cards affirming their pre-adolescent love. Girls of all ages love pinks, reds, and using hearts to create masterpieces for that special someone even if the outcome isn’t what one intended. In my experience, it has been the younger boys- 3rd grade and below- who are still okay to cut hearts out of card stock of the infamous pink colored paper. It appears that once one has graduated out of the 3rd grade and into the realm of 4th grade,  ideas most commonly associated with females become “hazardous” to the touch and in extreme cases, “blinding” to the eyes. Yes, we have all in one way or another distinguished boy things from girl things and feared the dreaded opposite gender. Child and adolescent development just doesn't disappoint.

Today in school we played a game I learned back in high school that epitomizes the very claim made it the latter paragraph. For half of the school day, girls wore red cardstock hearts with their names written on it around their neck and were forbidden to engage in any conversation with the boys, let alone make and attempt to communicate with their eyes. For the time period I gave them, it was all the boys could muster up to try to make the girls give up their hearts. The amusing game worked to reward those who could silence themselves long enough to escape capture, while also rewarding those who could succeed in stealing away hearts. From a teacher's perspective, it made for the world's quietest classroom and a meaningful period of learning. That in itself is so much to be thankful for.

I started the girls off shortly after worship ended, handing out their personal hearts to place around their necks. Warning them of the danger lurking in the row in front of them, the game began. While the game was still fresh in their minds and the schoolwork had yet overwhelm their thoughts, the classroom stayed quiet but impressively alert. At one point, the girls even hesitated to answer me.

As one might expect from a group of students in this age group, the practicality of the game was jeopardized by repetitious questions about the rules of the game. Why is it that children must ask every possible question about policy as if to burden themselves with the "do's" and "dont's"? It’s as if the game is a hypothetical soccer field insufficient for play until the entire team has walked its perimeter ensuring a first hand exposure of the boundary lines.

The girls lasted through the first hour working diligently on their work while shutting out all possible avenues for outside communication. It was not until one of my 6^th graders engaged me with her completed assignment that my 4^th grader asked her an innocent question to which she smiled back an “I’m smarter than that” glare. Having communicated, albeit nonverbally, she sorrowfully handed over her heart and returned to her seat in defeat, displeased with her trifling mistake. It wasn’t long before my second 6^th grader forked over her heart unwillingly too because she had asked my 4^th grader to leave her desk area in annoyance.  Only one heart among the girls remained and it was kept with sheer concentration and determination down to the last second of the time given,  with which she locked in a successful victory. The boys placed their hearts around their necks boldly and began casting competitive and intimidating statements towards each other and the girls. One can only explain this act of foolishness as a beneficiary of the glorious Y chromosome. Configured at the onset of fetal development, the Y chromosome represents a symbolic trophy of competitiveness and aggressiveness understood, only, by those that can't escape its wrath. 

The two youngest boys lost their hearts within the first fifteen minutes. I can only assume they lost interest or lacked the endurance to refrain from talking. Let me be brutally honest, it probably had something to do with the Y chromosome.  But it was the two 7^th graders that kept strong and focused. In the end, one would lose his heart during recess to an innocent question posed and the other more sure-of-himself boy would lose his to a snarling comment exclaiming, “You girls will never take my heart away.” Hmm.. the irony was enough to send the entire classroom into tears of laughter. Perhaps a lesson in humility was also achieved today.

You might be thinking the game focused more on what was right and wrong to do in an attempt to take a heart instead of the actual humor in stealing away a heart but it was the thought that mattered. Unable to send my own valentine this year, I enjoyed the gift of cherishing my student’s immaturity as a sufficient substitute. And I couldn't help but think, maybe this is how God thinks of us from time to time. 

Social Volleyball

Every Wednesday I have the opportunity to play social volleyball at the local international high school in town. This school, which receives students that can pay top dollar fees, has been able to construct a large expansive campus with multiple buildings to aid in giving students an education similar to one they could receive in the UK. Among the buildings is a gymnasium built next to their outdoor soccer pitch and tennis courts where we play volleyball. Perhaps the only indoor gym I have ever set foot in here in Africa, it certainly feels foreign. With wooden floors and a full size basketball court, this high prized facility stands erected by walls constructed of two thirds of the way up with brick and the top third with metal bars, allowing sunlight and ventilated air into the mostly indoor room. Lights hang from the ceiling sufficiently lighting the space and the rafters expand across the ceiling just high enough to avoid any interference with balls… most of the time :).

I have played volleyball inside here before when the rain has bucketed. Inside the aluminum roofed shelter the sound of pounding rain is deafening. You can forget trying to hear anyone yelling or even screaming -It’s that loud! You watch the ball bumped, set, and spiked but you never hear it's normal sound. Only the rain crashing above as loud as a thousand gunshots hitting the metal roof all at once can be discerned, it is truly remarkable.

The group that seems to return every week to play on a regular basis consists of expatriate foreigners who have come to Malawi for various reasons. Teachers from the international school, volunteers from various local NGO’s, international businessmen, and even a private guitar craftsman comprise our Wednesday evening social volleyball club. Among the regular attendees are those from the U.K., Germany, Denmark, Chile, France, and the U.S. Connected by our mutual love for the sport whether it be competitive or social, we are sure to have an experience that is exciting, amusing, and rewarding.  

This last week, however, we transformed our Wednesday evening social game into a legitimate competition against a team of medical professionals from the local prestigious College of Medicine in town. Their team arrived early, still dressed from work, but took this particular match seriously. Bragging rights were up for grabs! Comprised fully of Malawian born and raised medical professionals, their team took the fun meaningless competition to the next level. Volleyball etiquette was a fundamental part of their game. They even held mid-match team huddles during timeouts. Their actions showed a sense of seriousness, much to the lack of what we were used to. Their self appointed coach provided further mentorship from the sidelines. 

When the first whistle blew and the first serve was set the intensity swirled into the arena out of nowhere. Cries for help and shouts of assistance went back and forth as the ball ping ponged back and forth. Quick thinking was vital if it meant throwing off the other teams’ expectations. Balls hurled from spiked hands while bodies dove to recover and back and forth it went. It seemed the side with the advantage would be the team to overpower the other or make the play that proved impossible to return. Both teams fought consistently for four stressful matches but it in the end, it was our team that came away victorious having won the best of five.

Wednesday volleyball may not always result in rewarding gratification but the exercise and friendships make it worth it in the middle of a week riddled with monotony. I love my Wednesday evening social volleyball.

Soccer on Tuesdays

Every Tuesday evening a group of guys in their 20's-30's show up to play social football for a couple hours under the dim lights at the Blantyre Sports Club. Men who can afford to pay membership fees appear dressed in expensive cleats expecting to have a good time… and a good time they have.

The few European and American men that dare accept the challenge often times appear defeated in agility, speed, and overall performance. With strong legs and chiseled upper bodies these Malawian are no force to be reckoned with. The ‘regular attendees’ have all learned to wear their country’s national team jersey and this adds to a sense of internal pride felt on the pitch. Faced against a sea of red, the primary color of the national football team,  it’s no easy challenge for the little white boy from Idaho that decides to remove himself from his comfort zone of basketball, baseball, and golf, to appear in the presence of Malawian super stars.

What has become commonplace during our games are repetitive efforts to win possession of the ball over any and all miniscule argument about the game's rules. Guys call for yellow cards in one corner of the pitch while another group of guys are fighting over a proposed handball. At least one player is sure to be complaining about the fairness of either of the teams while another is pleading with his mates to share the ball more.  There is no universal conversational paradigm that dictates what is appropriate to say and do in every situation of the game. Adults fighting over a handball or children arguing over who get’s to be the first in line appear to sit next together in my book under the subheading "Nonsensical Encounters". While the game plays on with or without attention to everyone’s displeasure, laughter and fun times are certainly had in the end. After all, it’s Tuesday night Social Soccer!