A blind pianist named Ken Medema wrote a song that echoes this thought over and over again. It's a simple song, one I've been listening to since I was in elementary school probably...one of those songs I never knew would fill out it's meaning in exactly this way decades later. Between the echoes of this longing the songwriter names all of the things he hopes for in a place he would call home...
- a place to hang my hat
- a place to learn to run
- a place to be alone
- a place where someone cares or maybe no one cares at all
- a place out of the sun
- a place to scream and shout
etc. What would make your list of things you long for in a home?
Mine was called to question this last week. Is a place where you have to question the male:female ratio's present at any given moment, wondering at certain times of day who is where and what people might think, altering your activity based on who is where when, a place I want to call home, or ask anyone else to call home?
It came to our attention that the cultural perception of a man and a woman sitting inside a room at night without anyone else present, even if said room is the kitchen and the door is wide open and the lights on for all to see, is that the man and woman are sleeping together. So, when Scott goes to someone's house for dinner, leaving Andrew and I at home in kitchen eating dinner together and chatting about the day's goings on, the South Sudanese assumption is that Andrew and I are sleeping together - which we ARE NOT. Evidently people ask our friends *frequently* if I am Andrew's wife or Scott's wife, to which they reply no, but the inquiries continue.
So, what to do. If Andrew's sleeping up at the team compound and none of our South Sudanese friends are around and I'm cross stitching in the kitchen, then Scott spends the evening in his room so as not to create suspicion...if Wycliff stops by to chat then Scott can come out of his room and the three of us catch up, but as soon as he leaves, Scott goes back to his room? This is no way to ask him to live his life, no way to go about life in one's own home, always having to assess whether the situation is culturally appropriate or not...
After hearing on Saturday night a report from other friends confirming that in fact this is the cultural perception, although some may realize that we have a different culture, I went to bed with a heavy heart. What do we do now? Does this mean I need to move? Laying in the dark of my tukul with a blue door, the tears began and I opened the precious bag of mint M&M's for comfort :) The longer I lay there, the more I was convinced that the best solution to the problem of the perception of us, who "preach" the ABC's (Abstinance, Be Faithful, and use a Condom) of sexual health then sleeping with each other while not married - is for me to vacate the situation.
Before I moved to town in July, I had asked Rena, Bishop's wife, about the cultural implications of me moving onto the ECS compound and sharing the kitchen space with Scott and Andrew. Her only concern was that we not go into each other's bedrooms, but that sharing the kitchen space would be fine. I asked her again, was she sure? She was. So, I moved without wondering further. But evidently in the minds of young men and women, the cultural assumptions are different. I didn't want to have to live every evening, worrying about how many people were going to be around the kitchen that evening, wondering if me or one of the guys was going to need to go into our room to keep everything above board...I didn't want to ask them to have to live like that either. A home, in my mind, should not be place of worry, but rather of rest and relaxation, of being able to be where you want to be when you want to be there. My 4 months or so spent living on the ECS guesthouse compound was not a place of worry, but our conversation Saturday night changed that.
So back to The Shire I would go.
I woke up on Sunday morning sure that I needed to move, but not very happy about it. "Sucks to be a girl" I thought. "Sucks to have to go back to a life of a trek every time I want to be with South Sudanese people." "Sucks to have to move because people think I'm doing something that I'm not." "Sucks to have to readjust to another place, another group of people to live with, another pattern of life, another ebb and flow of activities and expectations." "Sucks to not be able to keep up with Kaya's fishing expeditions and Aniwa's baking endeavors, and Tata's newfound excitement in reading, and the saga of the bride price Wycliff's been asked to pay and cannot afford by a long shot, on a daily basis." "Sucks to move to my 9th bed of the month." "Sucks not to have a home."
But on my iPod I put on the next sermon in a series on Theophanies in the Bible from Redeemer in NYC that I'd started several months ago, and God met me. He met me with Jacob and the ladder to heaven (Genesis 28). Jacob was on the run from his family, from his home, and spends the night in the middle of no where, laying his tired head on a rock. God meets him, standing at the top of this ladder (sounds totally spooky to me), and essentially tells him, "I am the God of your people. I see you alone in the wilderness. I am going to make this wilderness your home; I am going to give you a home, AND a people. In fact, through your people I am going to bless the whole earth. AND on top of all of that, I am going to be with you not just here, but WHEREVER you go." Hm. That wasn't JUST what I needed to hear or anything...wow. really? Then I mosied on to church and was met again in 2 stories of God's miraculous provision, when people were worried about what was going to happen, worried about lacking something, and God provided extravagantly (2 Kings 4, Matthew 14) in ways they would have never been able to predict.
And then there was Wilma, the blind woman who faithfully comes to church every week and sings in the section of ladies that leads the singing and the percussion shaker-shaking. Wilma gave me a gift she'd made for me - she sent someone over to give it to me during the service so I could put it to use...it was a shaker of my very own: a hollowed out gourd with seeds inside and used chewing gum stopping the hole up. To this girl who *loves* giving gifts AND the hearts of people with disabilities, what better a reminder that home looks like many different things than a homemade gift from a blind woman. best. gift. ever.
So, after church I packed up my tukul, back into the ever - present plastic Contico trunks, and Monday after work I moved to my next home, back up at the team compound in Miri Moto - the place God has for me in this moment. I dusted off the shelves, sweeping away 5 months of cobwebs and spider egg sacks, resettled my sunscreen and skirts and tv series', and sighed a sigh of thanks, thanks for this home, for this moment.
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