I’ve spent two weeks saying not much has changed, but as the novelty of being home begins to wear off I’m starting to see those things that are very different. And not necessarily different than when I left, but perhaps I just see them differently because I left. Things as subtle as conversations, what people talk about, how much they talk, expressions people use; it’s not things you’ll notice after a two week short term trip, more like things I would expect an African to notice. Every time I shake someone’s hand I want to do our three-part Namibian handshake. I feel offended when I haven’t greeted someone at an event (yes, you read that right and it is quite intriguing). The appeal and temptation to spend money frivolously here is to the point of overwhelming. Spending money isn’t an event; it’s just a natural part of life. I’m beginning to realize that I’ve gone way beyond getting annoyed or even frustrated at cultural differences. I’ve gotten to where I think far differently about things like money and relational living. Dallas Willard describes culture as what you think and do without thinking about thinking or doing it. If that’s true, then after a year Africa has left a far bigger imprint on me than I probably realize, definitely more than a little dust in the blood.
Two Different Worlds
There and back again
That’s how I expected to feel coming home, but truth be told, that hasn’t been my experience…at least not yet. I look around at everything that was once so familiar, and now a year older, but relatively the same. The biggest thing that’s struck me so far is how little has changed, how life goes on without you, not skipping a beat. And now I just melt right back in, almost as though I never left.How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on?
Then in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back.
~Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
But that raises the obvious question of how I have changed, which is more what Frodo’s quote is talking about. How does a changed person fit back into a culture that hasn’t changed? Or in our cross-cultural training terminology, when a square-headed person lives in a round-headed culture his edges become more and more rounded. So how does the newly rounded square-headed person fit back into his square-headed culture?
This is the process often called “re-entry” or “reverse culture shock.” At least that’s the technical explanation. More personal insights to come as I experience more.As for the jet-lag, I was kind of enjoying waking up at 5 and 6 in the morning, reading the Word, watching the sunrise. The morning hours are lovely, a few quiet moments before the world awakes to it’s busy-ness. But I think staying up until 1am watching the Patriots last night has gone a long way to setting my body clock back on schedule.
Two hundred and forty seven
That’s the number of days I’ve been illegal in the country. Now finally four days before I leave I’ve got my visa and my peace of mind. Yesterday morning I drove in to Windhoek and went straight to Home Affairs. I found myself on the third floor (where all the important people’s offices are) speaking with a Miss Inge. I was eying the large stamp on her desk that would easily solve all my woes. I explained my situation, then she explained it to someone else, then they called over an intimidating immigration officer who briefly said, “This man is going into custody.” But armed with the prayers of all my friends and the fact that they seemed like they genuinely wanted to help me, the three worked out a situation where I could get a 4 day exit visa and the certain immigration officer couldn’t be held responsible. So I walked out that morning with a stamp in my passport and a spring in my step from such a weight lifted. Praise the Lord!
The rest of the day was filled with visits to old friends in Windhoek that I won’t see again. It was such a blessing to reconnect with some of them that I hadn’t seen in ages. In the evening I picked up Toivo and we went to a youth group meeting at one of the churches that attended the camp I was involved with back in May. In typical African style, I ended up sharing the message about Jeremiah and being a prophet to your own people. Afterward they prayed over me as I’m preparing to leave. The warm-hearted, welcoming African spirit never ceases to amaze me. You can meet someone for five minutes and every time thereafter it’s as if you’d been friends for years. There’s nothing in the States I can quite compare it to except visiting these old-time, country Baptist churches with my singing group in college. That’s one part of this culture that I will miss greatly.
As I write this, I’m about to head out to Gross Barmen Hot Springs with the kids from the Ark for a kind of farewell fun day. After spending so much time with them before, I’m glad I can get in a good full-days worth of quality time before I go. Then it’s final goodbyes and packing on Sunday, and off to the airport on Monday. How time flies!
There's no time like the present
The Sports Weekend proved to be a great event for the community and a great lesson in African culture for me. The other volleyball teams that were suppose to come never showed so we just split up some teams and played amongst ourselves, nothing very competitive since we were coed. We were slotted to play again on Saturday at 9…which turned into 11…which turned into afternoon…which never ended up happening. That was pretty typical of the whole weekend schedule. It did me no good to ask what time events started because when I would show up no one would be there. That’s part of the love/hate relationship that many Westerners have with African culture: stuff happens when people show up.
Africans themselves are very split over the topic. I’ve heard some say it’s a fault of their culture that they need to work on. I’ve heard others speak proudly of it as a cultural distinction and heritage. As a Westerner and an outsider I realize it’s something I must take in stride. To get frustrated is useless, because there’s no one who will sympathize with me and it’s not going to change anything. The best thing to do is become a little ‘African’ myself and just enjoy the relationships right in front of me.
Hitchhiker's guide to poverty culture
I’ve frequently been asked about hitchhiking from people in the States who are a little leery or surprised or shocked. It always makes me smile because it’s just natural here. I suppose if America had more people without cars than with then hitchhiking would be more common there too. It got me thinking about how much of poverty culture is shaped by necessity. It’s understood that those who have help those who don’t. This concept is largely lost in an individualized, materialistic, self-propagating culture. Everyone looks out for number one and doesn’t even notice the needs of others. Perhaps our culture would be more shaped by necessity if we were a little more aware of the needs of those around us.
Wedding Day
Some days you think you have a plan; others you never see coming. Today, I was on my way to the library to do some writing when I ran into my friend Sam who was coming fresh from the barber shop. Sam and his fiancée are getting married on December 13 and I was sooo disappointed when he asked me to do his photography because I’ll be back in the States by then. It would’ve been an awesome cultural experience and it’ll be a killer party. But alas, I must remind myself like when I left, I’ll always miss out on something.
But this morning, he asked me again. As I was about to remind him that I wouldn’t be here, he said they were having their public ceremony in December, but their official ceremony was at the magistrate’s office in Swakop today. Since I had no plans that couldn’t be rescheduled I jumped at the opportunity. So with enough time to change my clothes and grab my camera, I joined Sam and Boniface to catch a lift into town.
We should’ve known when the rear passenger side door had no handle. And if not that, then it should’ve been a dead give away when none of the windows rolled down, the passenger door didn’t shut right, and you couldn’t open either back door from the inside. But we needed the ride, so after a stop at the Arandis ‘petrol station’ (some guy that sells gas by the 5 liter jug out of his house for an outrageous profit) we were on our way.
Not five minutes down the road the engine died and we coasted to a stop. We climbed out of the stuffy back seat, after someone opened the door for us from the outside, and told the driver, ‘thanks, but we’ll find another ride.’ After we prayed, the very next car was a pickup truck that Providence sent for us. The groom hopped in the front and Boni and I in the back and we were finally on our way.
The ceremony was lovely. They signed a few papers, exchanged rings and kissed, and it was over before a Vambo could eat a fat cake. The next couple in line asked me to take some photos for them too, which was slightly awkward, but hey, now I can say I’m a professional if I get paid for my work, right? :)
So congratulations to Sam and Victoria! I’m super excited for you and wish I could be here on the 13th. I pray for God's continued blessing on your life together.
Evangelism and African Culture
Other than the guy who just shouted from his couch and never opened the door, we were usually welcomed into homes or at least given time to say our piece. As we’ve been visiting people in their homes this week to share the gospel, they have been much more accommodating than you’d find in the States, I think partly because house visits are much more common here. In America you don’t just drop by someone’s house to visit them. You usually make an appointment or meet over lunch or something. But the only people knocking on your door in the States are salesmen, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and kids in Halloween costumes.
People are also much more respectful to their guests, especially concerning religious conversation. They graciously listened as we shared and explained a few verses from Romans that briefly summarize God’s redemptive plan. This is less surprising when one considers the polytheistic spiritual history of the continent, the increased number of regular church goers, that almost every house has a Bible, and how clergy are often held in high regard (regardless of what they actually teach). Even if they didn’t give us the time to share, they would always let us pray for them. It’s interesting how everyone wants a blessing on their own terms.
And in the end the response was quite overwhelming, almost too much in fact. As some of our hosts have shared with us in the past, when we share the gospel here and proceed to ask if anyone would like to ‘receive Jesus’ or ‘become born again’ then many people will say yes not because they understand but simply to be polite. But we would always pray with them nonetheless, because we don’t know their hearts and this may actually be the time God is moving their hearts to believe.
At youth group tonight we shared about our experiences from the week and many of our youth were greatly touched and encouraged. They were excited by the boldness and passion in the team members from Windhoek. By going along in the different small groups they gained valuable experience on how to explain the gospel and what kinds of things they can say. And they were quite fired up to keep doing it even now that the team has gone. So even if that’s the only lasting effect (which it’s not), I think it’s been a productive week.
American entertainment
The meal was a plate of mahangu and a vegetable dip with a side of mopane worms. We would grab up a portion of mahangu with our fingers, ball it up in our hands and dip it in the vegetable mixture. The dip added a bit of flavor to the otherwise plain mahangu, but the worms were quite savory compared to others I’ve had. We all had some fun chatting about interesting foods from other cultures and watching Nate examine a worm before setting it back in the dish.
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During the morning classes I taught about Jacob and Esau and God’s sovereign love in choosing. Nate gave some tips on public speaking, then gave each class member a chance to practice while the rest of the class critiqued. Then Germaine taught about Mary Magdalene and how God desires a heart for Him more than service. Afterwards the students in turn stood and offered us Scriptures of encouragement. It was quite a blessing to be accepted and loved by them.Tonight we’ll go back for the Wednesday evening service where it appears I’ll be preaching. I’d better catch a quick nap before I need to prepare my message!
More question...still no answers
We were able to sit down yesterday with Sylvia Beukes, the National Director for Hope’s Promise Orphan Ministries (HPOM), and clarify some of our questions and concerns about what would happen if Social Services were to place the kids under Hope’s Promise and Jenny were to become an HPOM mommy. Some of us get the feeling that if she’s singled out to receive so much aid then she’ll have no connection to the surrounding community and therefore no support network apart from us. When asked about the cultural implications, Sylvia raised a very poignant question, “What has culture done for these kids?” . . . Well they’re still alive. They’re not eating out of dustbins. They have a roof over their head. They’re going to school. It may not be an ideal system from what we’re used to, but it’s what they have. They’re culture is based on survival, not accumulating wealth. If living conditions aren’t up to our standard, we must understand that’s not the point. So I think my ultimate question is beginning to take shape, Is there a way to work within their system rather than replace it with ours? Can we come alongside side them on their road, rather than dragging them down ours? I realize how messy and emotionally charged that question is, but I think it's one we must struggle with. I also realize, I must be ready for the answer to be No.
Thank you for your gracious responses and understanding the value of a question, whether or not I have an answer.
Towards a solution
I thought I was as angered and heartbroken about entitlement as I could get, but that was before I heard Rosa’s side of the story. Rosa is Jenny’s next door neighbor and also one of Joan’s precious preschool teachers. Joan relayed the story like this…
Rosa came into their Thursday afternoon preschool teachers meeting fuming mad. She proceeded to unload, like pulling the stop out of a hole in a dike. She said her neighbor had a fire the other night, but none of the other neighbors came to help. Rosa was the only one. And as fast as she could pull things out of the house the onlookers were stealing them. They justified themselves by saying, “Well the Americans will replace it all for her anyway.” Those were their exact words. It makes me about as mad as Rosa probably was, but it forces me to analyze how much am I part of the problem, because I know they’re right.
The whole African tribal culture is built around the sharing of resources to help each other survive. When we step in with aid we interrupt the delicate balance of that culture that has survived for centuries without us. There were five white people at her place Wednesday morning helping clean up from the fire. But had we not been there others would’ve stepped in and helped out. Rosa would’ve gladly opened up her own home to let the children stay the night, but the white men took them out of their culture to sleep under his roof. We help replace clothes and mattresses, but truthfully, if we were never there, others would have shared and they would’ve gotten by. That’s the beauty in their culture that we’ll never fully understand.
America is not the savior of Africa. Africa doesn’t need to be saved from themselves. They need Jesus. I don’t know how to say in more forthrightly than that.
Am I suggesting we abandon people to their poverty? By no means! I’m suggesting we work within their cultural framework to help in a way that doesn’t ostracize them from their families and communities. I’m suggesting we point people to Christ, leading them toward a dependency on God, not on white aid. Trials help produce perseverance and faith. When we remove them from their trials, there’s no reason to trust in God. We must walk a road with them, not just give them a car and directions on how to bypass the road altogether. But as frustrated as I get (can you tell??) I must remember I have no perfect solution. And in my efforts towards one, I’m sure I leave my own pile of wreckage in the wake. It forces me to the very same place, total reliance on the Source of all wisdom, which in the end may be the whole point in the first place.
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. :)
Intro to Himba culture
Itinerary for next weeks Outreach: Tomorrow we’ll drive as far as Outjo. On Sunday morning we’ll minister at a local church, then head up to Etosha where we’ll spend the night. After a game drive on Monday morning we’ll share at an assembly in the Okaukuejo school, then head back to Outjo for the night. Tuesday will be our 400km drive up the western edge of Etosha into what’s known as the Kaokoland. We’ll make our way to the small town of Opuwo where we’ll spend the rest of the week ministering in local schools and villages.
It is in the desolate environment of the Kaokoland that the ovaHimba people have lived in quiet isolationism for centuries allowing them to preserve their traditional way of life amidst a modernizing continent. The Himbas are semi-nomadic pastoralists, which means they don’t settle in one specific village, but move around dependent on good grazing lands for their goats and cattle. Traditional Himbas live in mud huts, wear only an animal skin skirt around their waist, live off the land, and worship their ancestors. However, this traditional lifestyle is being threatened by the modernizing culture around them. As children are more exposed to technology and living comforts they move away for work or school in more urban areas. Many never return.
Fortunately, most of the Kaokoland has been registered as a conservancy which allows the Himba people to monitor and regulate wildlife and tourism on their lands. With the help of environmentalist groups they’ve successfully blocked attempts to build a dam on the Kunene River which would flood much of their ancestral grazing grounds. So despite the changing culture, the Himbas are finding a way to carve out a niche for themselves to prevent the extinction of their simple way of life.
Along with modernized culture, the Himba people have been largely isolated from Christian missions. Japie, the OM team leader, estimated that there may be only 100 Christian Himbas in the whole region. Most of their religious rituals involve the worship and appeasement of their ancestors. This is why we go to Opuwo, to take the good news of Jesus Christ to people of every tribe, especially those forgotten by the rest of the world.
Chances are this will be my last post until we return the following Monday, unless some Himba village happens to have an internet café hut that I could make use of. But don’t worry, I’ll take good notes in my journal so I can fill you in when I get back. During the next week please be in prayer for safety as we travel, especially on the gravel roads. Pray for the people we will interact with, that God will prepare their hearts and give us the right words to say. And please pray, not to be funny at all, for all the guys on the team including me, that the Lord would guard our hearts and minds as we minister in a largely topless culture.
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.
A long walk home
Late yesterday afternoon, I opted for a little cultural experience of my own. After hanging out at the Ark, I had a little grocery shopping to do in town, then I decided rather than catch a taxi I would just walk home. I figured people in Vyf Rand do it all the time and I wanted to see what it was like. It’s probably a good 7-10km or more from the Spar to the plot, but I had the time and the daylight (or so I thought) so I gave it a go. You definitely meet more people by walking, other people walking, or people you pass. Two times people asked me for money or some bread (that’s not unusual, it happens all the time). And I couldn’t help feeling the strange looks as if to say, “Why is a white guy walking?” Afterall, it’s not something they see everyday. I finally strolled up to the gate well after sunset, my grocery bags weighing far more than usual. As educational as it was, I think next time I may stick with the taxi.
I realized the other day how acclimated I’m becoming when a new volunteer walked through the sitting room at the Ark and my first questions after the intros were, “Where are you from, and how long are you here?” Seriously, those are the first questions everybody asks here. I always thought that was just a normal way to start conversation when people used to ask me those questions. Now I realize (at least for me) I want to know if this is a fellow American I may have something in common with, and how much should I bother investing in this relationship if they’re just going to leave. I know it sounds bad, but that’s the reality of it. So many people come and go that if they’re only here for 2 weeks or a month than you only invest enough to get by. Why bother becoming best friends if you know they’re just going to leave? But if someone’s here for 3 months, 6 months, a year, then you’re willing to invest a little more, because you know they’ll be around for a while. It’s really a curious phenomenon, not a conscious thing, just simply a reflection of the reality of the situation. I just didn’t really realize it until I heard the words coming out of my own mouth.
To shoot or not to shoot
As promised, I thought I’d share a few thoughts about photography and ministry in Africa. This is only from my experience so I’m sure others will have differing opinions. You may have noticed that thus far I haven’t posted many pictures of people or ministry. It’s all been sunsets or insects or doors or random other things that caught my eye. The trouble is tourism is the number one industry in Namibia. People come from all over the world to snap photos of animals at Etosha or one of the many other wildlife reserves. They’re coming to an intriguing culture so they shoot photos of things that are quite normal here but are new and different to them, sort of like the Japanese tourists who take pictures of squirrels. One American saw a man thatching a roof and stopped for a photo of what was this man’s ordinary, everyday job. But that mentality has transferred over to poverty. Squatter’s camps and people in poverty become a tourist attraction. They take pictures of the ‘poor’ Africans just like they’re animals in Etosha. Some have even promised to send back the money they make from the photos, but the people never see those benefits. It’s become an industry based on exploitation and it’s saddening.
As a result, I’m very careful when and where I pull out my camera. As one here to immerse himself in the culture the easiest way to ruin that is to come across as just another tourist. Tourists come for their own interests, not the interests of others. Tourists don’t build relationships. They keep the people at a distance through the lens of their camera. The irony is that photos are more than welcome within the framework of relationship. It’s natural to take pictures of and with your friends. The photographer in me cringes every time I have to pass by a beautiful photo op, but I understand that’s not my purpose. I’m here to share God’s love with people, not just shoot cool photos. Some may say, ‘But you could share these photos with the first world to communicate the truth and make a difference,’ but sometimes the best way to make a difference is to put the camera away and share your heart instead.
How to prepare mopane worms
Step 1: Go out into the bush and collect your mopane worms.
Step 2: Squeeze out the guts and discard.
Step 3: Gently wash the worms and place in pot of water.
Step 4: Allow the water to boil out over about an hour.
Step 5: Let them dry in the sun, salt, and serve.
Serving Suggestions: Use Tomato sauce or Sweet Chili sauce for dipping. You can also let them simmer with small chunks of tomato and onion, or add more water and make it into a soup. Bon apetite!
After the rain
There is a giant mushroom that grows out of the huge termite mounds only after it rains. I’m not a mushroom fan myself, but they’re considered a specialty here in Namibia.
Also after it rains, out come the ‘mopane worms’ (named because they feed on the mopane [pronounced mo-pon-ie] tree). On the way into church this morning everyone was headed out to the bush with their buckets to fill with the large caterpillars of the emperor moth. They’re quite plentiful, so you could conceivably find up to 10-20 on one bush. They puke up this green juice when you try to pluck them off the branch, kind of like a toad will pee on you when you pick it up. The harvesters will take them home in these big buckets, squeeze out the guts, dry them in the sun, then fry them up for eating. Apparently it’s an excellent source of protein.After church today, Buddy, Julia and I went out mopane worm hunting for ourselves. We collected a pretty good bag full. Julia knows a couple different ways to prepare them so they invited me back tonight to join them for the fruits of our labor!
Random Thoughts
Everything is decorated for the holidays like you would expect. There are Christmas lights on every street light in town. Fake evergreen trees covered in shiny balls can be found in all the malls. Santa even made an appearance, though he didn’t seem quite the same as a skinny, black man. It’s interesting seeing so many “American” traditions find their way into a Namibian Christmas, but then I was reminded that Christmas is largely an “American” holiday. Africans never celebrated it until the whites brought it here. It makes me wonder how the native Africans might have celebrated the birth of the Savior of the world if it hadn’t become so westernized.I’ve come to think it’s the subtle, ordinary things that make a place feel like home. Every time you move you have to get used to little things, like a new bathroom or kitchen, where to shop for particular things, a new view from lying in your bed at night. Things like washing clothes and grocery shopping happen everywhere, but perhaps just a little differently than what you’re used to. It’s those little things that become comfortable, then they become habits, and before long it’s normal life. Hmmm…I wonder if there’s any correlation between that idea and how we as Christians make a home of this world.
What culture shock
This post is for those that think Africa is all jungle huts and natives with loin cloths. We were running errands in Windhoek (the capital city) yesterday and while Richard was buying his plane ticket I got a chance to meander around the mall. I walked into a store called Hi-Fi that has all sorts of electronics from plasma TVs to car stereos to housing appliances. I watched an employee play a demo on the Nintendo Wii, then caught Steven Segal on the projector screen in their home theatre section. The guy that drove us back from the coast on Monday had a Toyota Forerunner with leather seats, multi disc changer, and even had a radar detector in his cell phone. So there is wealth here, and luxury, and convenience, just not in the abundance you find the States.
But if their modern technology doesn’t take you by surprise, here are a few things that might. When you order a bacon cheeseburger you ask for ‘chips’ instead of fries. Rather than dipping your chips in ketchup, they have bottles of tomato sauce. And if you bite into your burger expecting the small, crunchy strips of bacon you’re used to then you’re in for a shocker. Their bacon is basically slices of ham. They call stoplights ‘robots’, flashlights are ‘torches’, and ATMs are BOBs. We had ‘pancakes’ for dinner one night, but really they were crepes. What we call pancakes, they call crumpets. So if you thought your English would get by just fine then you may still have some learning to do.
Then there’s those things you might expect to adjust to. Instead of looking out for deer on the road, you watch out for warthogs and baboons. Speaking of driving, “Keep Left, Pass Right” is a popular road sign with the tourists. 
When I first arrived I was quickly warned about the zebra snake and the puff adder, how they look and act, and what to do if I came across one. In the dark I’ve almost stepped on a scorpion and a toad/frog bigger than my foot. There are bugs everywhere. I have a walking stick (of the bug variety) living in my kitchen sink. And this is my roommate, Linus, a common African gecko. I think I’m the one that invaded his space, but once he realized I was just trying to take his picture he stood still for me. He lives over my closet and comes and goes as he pleases. He likes it because it’s cool inside during the day and warm at night. I like him because he eats the mosquitoes.
So Africa’s not such a world apart after all, it’s just different. And just because something’s different doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It may take a little getting use to, but people have been living here for centuries. I can’t come as the typical arrogant American thinking I have all the answers to fix Africa. It’s about understanding a different culture, experiencing life from a different perspective and in the long run, hoping that it will broaden my own.
