Spending the Day in "Boston"

My Day Out in the Village

I had been wanting to go out to my friend's village, Boston. However, when there was time, I did not feel well. When the village had some event, I seemed to have guests or some other program. As one week began to come to a close, I saw that I would not have much in the way of plans for Saturday, allowing me to rest, before Sunday, when we could go. I went on Friday to ask her if that was possible. She and her husband agreed that it would be a good time to go. Knowing it would take us almost an hour to get there, I said we should leave around 9am.

Sunday 9am came. I was not worried about running out the door, because people generally do not start getting ready until the start time anyway. So I took my time to eat breakfast and headed out the door around 9:30. As I suspected, my friend was not ready yet. She noticed I had forgotten my earrings, so I called to ask William to bring them over to me. She got ready and the two of us along with two of her children loaded up and headed down the road.

Just outside of town, we were stopped by a policeman. He was checking on our paperwork and where we were going. When he did not speak my current local language, I switched to the trade language. He smiled and let us go.

We talked about an issue she has with one of her children, about which she was planning on discussing with her stepfather at the village. With all of our talking, I almost completely passed up the chance to help a lady get to her village. After we passed the lady, I asked my friend if we could stop to pick her up. My friend agreed. It turned out that the lady knows my friend's mother and has an association with her stepfather. Bonus is that she also has my same last name.

We went on to my friend's village, Boston, where we greeted. After greeting, I drove the lady along with my friend out to the lady's village, Salem. We greeted. The lady was so grateful that she went to gather a huge bag of local rice, still in the bundle, for us. We visited. We talked about how great it is to care for one another. I shared the story of the Good Samaritan. I asked if we could pray before we left. She called her son over who prayed in their religious language. I then asked for permission to pray, which I did in their mother tongue. The lady promised to bring us local palm oil once it was ready. We thanked them and headed back to Boston.

Upon arriving at Boston, we were escorted to one of the huts. It had a bed and a mat that laid on the floor. It also had its own "private" bathing area behind the hut. It was much more convenient to taking care of one's business. We were brought peanuts and oranges on which to snack. My friend made tea for us to drink. I laid down to rest a bit, but my mind could not.

I was bothered by an event that happened in the greeting time before heading to Salem. A young lady sat at the entrance to the compound. She was dressed and seemingly in her right mind. However, as we greeted, she began wailing for a few minutes. Throughout the day, she randomly repeated the wailing. My friend said the young lady has been like that since she was pregnant with her little girl.  As I rested in the hut with my friend, I began reading in my local translation of the Word. I wanted to find some story to share to encourage my friend's family. I asked my friend if they had taken her to see doctors or religious leaders. She said they had taken her to everyone. The money was gone, but she was no better.

The stepfather came by the hut. He was embarrassed because they had no vegetables. I tried to reassure that there was no need for embarassment. They did not need to do anything more for me than they would for my friend. I kept studying the Word. Lunch came. It was a sauce made with chicken over rice with a green "condiment" sauce on the side. After lunch, I stepped outside just in time to see the young lady's daughter, barely two, uncovering the lunch for her mother.  It was precious and sad all at the same time. My friend and I moved outside of the hut and under a tree to have another round of tea.

My friend and the husband of the young lady were talking. They went back and forth on various subjects. I almost missed it as they talked briefly about his wife. He indicated that it was Satan that was tiring his wife, and my friend affirmed it. I asked for permission to share a story with them.

I read the story of Jesus healing the demon possessed in Mark 1. I then asked to pray for the wife. Not sure if it was a lack of faith or disbelief that I would want to pray for her, but the man laughed. I responded, "What could it hurt? You have taken her to doctors and religious leaders, and they could not help. If I pray and nothing happens, you are no worse off. If I pray and she is even a little better, then you can praise God." I proceeded to pray for healing in her life. (Please pray with me that healing will come in her life and that the Word will be received with power.)

My friend and I went around to the other compounds to say goodbye before leaving. Also gathered for us were grapefruits and oranges. It was an opportunity to thank them and share nuggets of truth amidst the goodbyes. I did not realize how long it had been since I was last there, most likely in 2012. No wonder I missed it so much.

We headed home. It was a good time. We made a quick stop to greet some family members on our way back to town. We drove quickly to make it back in time to see her son, who had come to town for the day. We divided up the rice and fruit. She went on to visit her family. I went to greet Jennifer quickly before heading home.

As a side note, because I had been exercising the week before, I was able to get up the next morning and exercise again before a full day of school and life here. My friend said she did not get out of bed until 5pm because her body ached from the travel out to the village. I was encouraged that it was not just my body that ached but also that the exercise was helping. While the actually time in the village is restful, the road to get there is not. Grateful for time with my friend and to reconnect with her family.

A Widow's Grieving

No, I have never been a widow. It must be hard, no matter where in the world you live.

I can only imagine how hard it is to lose my mate and have all my dreams of growing old together shattered or the person I have spent a lifetime with no longer be with me. I have known some really amazing widows. Some watched their husbands battle difficult illnesses, only to one day succumb to the enemy of the body. Some had their husbands, still young, die suddenly while in the course of every day life. Some struggled to make sense of a husband's suicide. Some were young and just starting out in life. Some were in the midst of raising a young family, so they were left as a single parent. Some had lived a lifetime with the love of their life, and then they had to learn to live life without that person by their side day in and day out.

Watching Jennifer has given me a whole new level of admiration for widows in general and pity for the women here. The customary mourning by a widow lasts no less than forty days, at which time there is another day of remembrance for the dead. Some of the people groups will then consider the time of mourning over. Other people groups will extend the widow's mourning for a total of four months and ten days. I have heard of one widow who mourned for ten months. As I understand from other widows, the grieving process never really ends, as with most issues of loss, but the mourning process I speak of is very specific.

The widow will sit for the entire time. She might lay down at times during the day and will do so at night, but otherwise she is sitting. She sits against a wall, never crossing the doorway. In villages where she only has one room, she will sit in that one room. In town, where she might also have a living area, she sits in the living room and has some freedom to move about from the living room to the bed room as necessary, but otherwise, she sits. She sits with back against the wall and legs straight out in front of her. She sits.

No going to the store.
No seeing the sun.
No seeing the moon and stars.
No visiting a friend.
No working.
Sitting.

Either someone from her family or her husband's will always be with her. Other customs apply and may vary between peoples, such as a relative coming to wash the widow once or twice a week throughout the period of mourning. After the 40 days, often the husband's family will divide up his clothes among the family members.

Otherwise, sitting.

Not all bad, though, as I have observed. When people come to greet the widow, particularly those who were unable to make it during the first week, they tell their story about how they heard about the death and why they were unable to come earlier. Then the widow recounts the days leading up to the death, particularly if it was the result of an illness. People do not rush her. She is able to tell her story and they listen. While that must get terribly difficult to retell at times, I am more aware of how little our culture listens. We often do not want them to have to retell because of fear of bringing up the pain, but deep within we also do not want to take the time to listen or imagine that it was our loved one. They do not have grief counsellors. They have family, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances.

Tuesday will be day 40 since Jennifer's husband died. She hopes to be able to request to at least move to sit at her mother's home. Pray that she will have wisdom to know how and when to ask permission and that she will find favor with with her husband's family. Jennifer is sitting.

Blending Home and Host Cultures

Today's devotional really started in 2014. At a training time, I was struck by how many things in our host culture and in the Bible revolve around forty days. Last year, I began reflecting on it again amidst recovering from surgery, but then dropped the study once I was well and busy with life again. With the new year, I am revisiting that study. Some points are longer and will require a lot more time. Today's passage was shorter than others and yet full of food for thought.

Often as expats overseas, we wage a battle within ourselves. How much do we become a part of the host culture and how much do we hang on to our passport country. Some forfeit their home culture completely, while others never embrace their host culture.  Our children are called Third Culture Kids because they take some of both to make their own new. One young man, who grew up a third culture kid in East Africa, entered our home one day and declared that it felt like home, the mix of the two. It was one of the greatest compliments I have ever received.
Though I feel like we do a good job of balancing the two, I often wonder.

In today's study of Genesis 50, I was able to see how Joseph found a balance between the two cultures. When his father, Israel aka Jacob, died, he wept over him. Then Joseph commanded the Egyptian physicians to embalm the body, which required forty days. As far as we know, this had not yet been a practice for the Israelites but Joseph does it here. After the proper period for Egyptian mourning was past, Joseph asked Pharoah's permission to take Israel to be buried, as his father made him promise.

Not only did Joseph and his brothers take their father to be buried. They were accompanied by Pharoah's servants, the elders of Egypt, as well as chariots and horsemen. They then mourned a sorrowful lamentation for Israel according to their own customs. What a testimony it must have been to all the Egyptians as well as the Canaanites living in the land at that time.

Likewise, when Joseph was dying, he made the sons of Israel promise to carry his bones up to the Promised Land when the time came. Additionally, when he died, he was embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt. A mummy?? Once again both cultures were to be honored in the observance of death.

This Joseph that had been sold into slavery by his brothers had become so much like the host culture that he was unable to be recognized by his brothers. He spoke the language of his new culture so clearly and dressed like them. However, when his family came to Egypt for food, his heart was touched. He had not forgotten his family, not brushed them aside. They were still near to his heart, such that he facilitated their moving into his host culture. He blended both his home culture and his host culture even in his death.

When we are in our host culture, we miss parts of our home culture. When in our home culture, we miss parts of our host culture. In the last year, I have come to realize that neither is going to ever completely fulfill my need for home. May I be able to find such a balance as Joseph in my life as an expat.