Cultural Adaptations

I’ve never felt more comfortable being the only white person in the room, but looking around the auditorium last night I was reminded how much our differences go beyond our shade of melanin. Pastor Marius’ church in Katutura was putting on a gospel concert involving many of my friends who attended the youth camp here at the plot about a month back. It was my first time to see them all since we parted ways at the train station after the Mariental outreach so I forgot my fair share of names, but it was great to see them again.

Sitting in my chair between Gordon and !yoko!yoko (a Damara/Nama name; the !’s are clicks) I found myself marveling at the many cultural differences these friends have taught me. Black African culture tends to be rather emotional and touchy-feely, which those of you who know me well may recognize is not me. But lately I’ve found myself quite at home seated in a sanctuary where everyone’s singing and clapping and dancing in the aisles. We’re all celebrating and worshiping the same God, we just express it differently. And lately it’s not so awkward when a friend shakes my hand and doesn’t let go or puts his arm around my shoulder. It's more than just getting used to it; it's a deeper understanding that I don't really know how to explain.

I’m still getting used to the whole idea of sharing resources. American culture trains us to be financially independent, except with parents who are always available to ask for money. ;) Here asking friends or family members for money is a regular practice. It’s almost as if the resources of those in your personal network are all at your disposal if you simply ask (or sometimes without asking!). On top of that, I get requests frequently simply because I’m white and they assume all white people have infinite resources. So I’m still wading through if, how, when and to whom I should give. Fortunately I have learned enough to know to accept a gift, even if (especially if!) it seems I should be the one giving to them. I don’t know to what extent they went to give and it would be an insult not to accept it, as if to inadvertently say, 'I'm too good for your gift'. But perhaps that's a topic for another post.

As the evening was coming to a close, Pastor Marius came up to me and expressed his appreciation for me coming all the way down from Okahandja to show my support. Then he said the most encouraging words of the night, “You’re a real African missionary now.” It seems I'm getting there. :)