Late Night Musings of an SLM

Yesterday was my last day in Juba.  Today I made the long journey to Maridi, where I will be doing my year of service.  I have been so blessed to spend the past two and a half weeks with the community in Juba.  I have experienced so much!  Here are my thoughts on some of what I’ve observed/learned:

On Community Values:

-    People take joy seriously…  There’s a Brother here who makes up songs all day, smiles widely at awkward times, dances whenever he gets the chance, and says that anything you want/need is “no problem!”  The priests joke around constantly.  The Sisters play basketball (in their habits).  I have never laughed so often or smiled so consistently.

-    People appreciate simplicity...  Looking at pictures we’ve taken so far, I realized how terribly washed out I look, and how young.  At home, this would encourage me to wear more makeup.  But here, the fact that I live just as I am (without modifying my appearance), is so much more beautiful a thing than looking a little better in a photograph.  It’s not worth losing that feeling for the sake of a little mascara.  I think I’ll stay washed-out.

-    People are generous...  There is a woman who makes beaded bracelets and rosaries.  I inquired about buying some.  She then made me a personalized bracelet of the South Sudanese flag and a special-order rosary with my favorite colors.  She did this with 2 days’ notice. It takes a full day to make one rosary.  She went far above and beyond for me.  This spirit of generosity is not uncommon.

On the Pace of Life:

-    Time is determined by the sun/moon instead of numbers on a clock.  At night, we sit out on the porch all together.  We talk, enjoy the stars, and sway to the melodies of a soft guitar.  This is how life is supposed to be lived.  We don’t “plan” time together, we don’t trouble ourselves about the tasks of tomorrow, we don’t do anything except love one another in the most natural way.  Life. Is. People.

On the Third World:

-    Exhausted after chasing the kids around outside, I needed to rehydrate.  Not thinking ahead, I filled up my water bottle and brought it outside.  10 kids ran over and fought for the “moya”, and in seconds the bottle was drained.  Afterwards, I remembered: I am in the middle of a community considered impoverished even by South Sudanese standards.  That bottle might be the only filtered water those kids get in God knows how long.  I am spoiled.

-    In the city, there is a billboard advising people to “Wash.  With soap.”   In the US, we’re urged to check for cancer or safeguard against diabetes.  Here, the government wants to get people to wash their hands.

-    The young ones here are poster-children for the heartbreaking commercials we have back in the States, the ones that tug at your heartstrings until you pledge to give $13/month to save a kid.  They wear the same (often dirty or ripped) clothes each day; babies’ stomachs are distended from malnutrition; some have patches of bald spots from infections; and everybody plays without shoes.  I am living in an infomercial.  The thing is, though, until I step back and make an actual effort to view things like this, I don’t see any of it.  All I see every day are happy kids, joyful adults, and loving families who live fulfilling lives in a wonderful community.  Everything here is “normal” to me.  Perspective is everything.

-    I went to mass at what they call the “Hanging Church”.  It was some plastic chairs (and a blanket for the kids) under a tree.  It was wonderful!  People make do with what they have.

On Spirituality

-    I have come to really enjoy daily rosary.  Not only am I able to sit through it (a feat in itself), but often times I find it ending too soon.  To embrace the rosary like this is a cool feeling.

-    Here, spirituality is about community.  Every week, the church is packed and the sounds of jubilation are comfortingly deafening.   The villagers practice singing and dancing for hours every afternoon in preparation for an upcoming feast day.  Church is not a requirement, but a privilege.  Worshipping is not a task, but a gift.

-    For morning and night prayer, we read from a breviary (a book of prayers and meditations).  I find at least one thing to copy into my journal from every session.  To make such strong connections between the prayers and my life is uplifting.

-    Being surrounded by such religious people is changing me.  I don’t have the words yet to describe exactly how, but I feel it.  And I absolutely love it.

On Maridi

-    I am Home.  Never in my entire life have I felt the way I did as we came into Maridi.  I immediately had an overwhelming sense of Belonging, like this place has been calling my heart my whole life and I finally answered.  It nearly brought tears to my eyes.  There is zero doubt that this is absolutely where God wants me.  I am overjoyed, I am comforted, and I am Happy all the way down into my soul.

Welcome to Africa

I'm breaking my rule to blog just once a week because too much has happened in the last few days to wait.  I feel as though I have been introduced to a small part of the true Africa and its substance is quite impressive:

What happened?
Very late a few nights ago, I heard yelling and chanting in a local dialect from the village a few hundred yards from my room.  When asked, one of the priests explained that a woman was plagued by evil spirits.  To save her and protect her soul, the villagers were taking part in a ritual of cleansing.  All of the villagers.  The whole community.  Everyone.

What has this taught me about Africa?
The word "community" has strong meaning, stronger than anything I've experienced.  This is not to knock Americans, who have certainly rallied to the aid of one another during times of tragedy.  There is something to be said, however, for the pluralistic way of thinking and living here.  Every single person dropped what they were doing and came together for a common purpose, no matter their plans or how long it would take (all night).  It seems there is no "I" here.  There is only "we".  All of their hearts beat to the rhythm of the same drum.

What happened?
The next afternoon, the boys I was playing football (soccer) with shouted words of encouragement as I climbed across the top of the goal.  They cheered me on during the game.  They replicated my way of celebrating a goal.  They also gave me a name-sign that resembles a large bird having a spasm as it takes flight (don't ask me why - it just happened).  All day they yelled "Keet!" ("Caitlin" is too hard), made the gesture, and laughed whole-heartedly.  They huddled around me and showed me how to eat osami - a long stick that looks a little like bamboo.  They laughed as I bit into it without peeling the outer layer; they laughed as I tried to swallow what is supposed to be spit it out.  They laughed and handed me another, then another and another.

What has this taught me about Africa?
If I play with them (which I am more than happy to do), the children will embrace me.  Already they accept me for my positive points and are willing to overlook the negative.  If I want to be a part of the community, it is through the children that I will find my place.

What happened?
Later, I found the girls singing and dancing.  I watched for only a moment before they pulled me into the middle of a dance in which an outer circle whirls around a leader who beats a standing drum.  They laughed because I'm sure I looked foolish.  They smiled because everyone was having a great time.  The only words sung in English were, "we are so happy today," and they meant it.  They all laughed and smiled and sang and danced.  It felt like a scene from a National Geographic documentary.  It felt... authentic.  (Duh Caitlin, maybe because it was authentic).

What has this taught me about Africa?
No matter what they have, many Westerners seek still more things to provide them with happiness, all the while living a solitary life behind TV screens and computers.  Here in South Sudan, people gather together to be "so happy" and make their own bliss.  But I believe they used the wrong word.  It is far beyond happiness.  It is capital-j Joy.  People have an intense exhuberance and zest both for life and for one another.  It is simple and it is beautiful.

What happened?
Last night, the village gathered for Rosary outside the church.  It was said in 4 different languages, one of which literally sounded like soft music playing.  As I ran back to my room for a moment, one child was adamant about saving my seat despite many attempts by his friends to occupy it.  He cared that it was mine.  After Rosary, the four SLMs were called up to say a few words and were recieved with thunderous applause and roaring cheers.

What has this taught me about Africa?
People have great capacity to love.  Those here love us not for what we have or what we will try to do.  They love us just for being and for being with them.

Overall impression:  Africa thus far has embraced me despite my ignorance.  It has loved me for my willingness.  It has begun to teach me in the same way an adult explains simple things to a small child.  In the 12 months to come, I believe it will show me more than I ever thought I could see, both the good and the disheartening.  Here we go...

PS: On an unrelated note, learning Arabic is really hard.  I feel like a complete idiot during class.  Thank goodness the people all speak English and are patient with my ineptitude.

SLM - The Journey Begins

**SLM stands for Salesian Lay Missioners, the program through which I am volunteering.  For all posts, "SLM" is interchangeable with "volunteer"**

I have been in South Sudan now for a day and a half.  It was an incredible feeling to sleep under the African stars for the first time last night.  I have been dreaming of this adventure for a very very long time, and it's finally here.  All things happen in God's time. 

There are some drastic differences between here and America.  The roads are worse and the people are nicer.  Transportation is much more arduous here because very little is paved.  The dirt roads have huge, crater-sized holes so one must drive very slowly.  I don't know if anyone can even get above second gear.  Wherever I go, people wave and smile.  Everyone is so welcoming.  I sat in wet paint today and the kids I passed by were quite happy to share a laugh with me about it.  Just outside the Salesian house is a vast field where the kids play sports (all the kids in the country, it seems).  A few of the other SLMs jumped right into the middle of the games, something that I think would be much harder and more awkward to do in America.

This evening, 5 young men were ordained as pre-novices.  Afterward, we had a wonderful celebration.  The people here love music, and we danced and sang and laughed.  There is a sort of... purity... to the simplicity of life I feel here.  I already feel very welcome.  I think it will not be too long before I feel at home.