African teenagers (Mariental Part 3)

Sunday morning we held our last big session joined by several local churches. Afterward, our leadership team gathered with all the local pastors and had a very encouraging time together. Then we moved out like the circus leaving town. The tents came down, the stage and sound system disassembled, and just like that you’d have never known we were there except for the work God had done in people’s hearts.

The train wouldn’t arrive until midnight so we had the whole afternoon and evening to rest and spend some last free time together before I would leave my new friends for possibly the last time. It amazed even me how much I came to care for them after only one week. One of my goals in coming for the year was to learn more about teenagers in Africa. Being the only white guy amidst all these black kids allowed me to approach them on their turf. I was able to experience a whole variety of personalities and conversations that may typically be covered over with cordiality. They were extremely open and accepting and never seemed to mind all my inquisitive questions, probably because I never seemed to mind theirs either.

Three things this weekend were very affirming in my quest for cultural significance: 1) People start talking to me in Afrikaans. That means I don’t look too American. :) 2) At meal times, people tend to group with those they’re most comfortable. All the white Afrikaaners from Emmanuel Church ate together, while I was the only white face amongst the sea of black teenagers. Not that that makes me better than them, but it just struck me who I found myself more comfortable with. 3) In a conversation with Valery, one of the youth leaders, she told me, “I’m not afraid of anybody. If I have a problem with you, I will tell you to your face. If you weren’t so down to earth, I would tell you to come down to earth.”

Everyone asks me about the differences between kids in America and kids in Africa, but I’m more intrigued by the similarities. Teenagers are teenagers. They all deal with the same issues of insecurity and how to find acceptance. Sure, some of the real life problems are different than kids in suburban New Hampshire, but the root issues are often the same. And most of all, kids love to be loved, and to be known. There’s no substitute for greeting someone by name, and nothing more priceless than the smirk when you attempt it in their native language.

I think we’re often afraid of things we don’t understand, that includes people who are different than us. Sometimes that means different age, income, skin complexion, or differently-abled (a redemptive term for our word disabled). Living here has helped me learn not to be afraid, but instead to ask honest questions. Behind every face is a soul in need of God’s love, so I choose to trade intimidation for understanding, fear for friendship, and prejudice for love.