This one does not belong.
Why? Because i'm home. And I have found Myself.
I have returned, O I have returned. And it is a nice thing.
It is a nice thing to have brewed coffee. It's a nice thing to have a working police force. It's a nice thing to have some dear friends back. It's a nice thing to worship as a body. It's a nice thing to be done with Malarone. It's a nice thing to blend in, too.
And here i discover homogeny. Which is a word.
There is an interesting fact of life. Fish do not know they are wet. Until, that is, they study abroad for two months. Then they arrive home. And they know. They are wet.
And I do not mean from the rain. Pause the seriousness for an anecdote: we had major flooding in the last campsite. Our tent became a waterbed, literally floating up around us, until we evacuated and dragged our boat/tent to higher ground. Our rubber floor was waterproof, so the four inch river that begged entry from our front door was relatively unsuccessful.
But no, that is not why I am wet. I am wet because I am surrounded, by a culture that I do not see, yet flows everywhere that I feel at home.
In my eyes, everywhere else there exists a culture, a people, a unique thing, a different thing. But not here. Here is natural culture. Here are grounds from which to analyze the world.
In my eyes, here is culture. There is a culture, but here is culture. Do you see the difference? If you do, perhaps you know you're wet. If you don't, you're wet. Like me.
Example in point- I always knew there were a lot of white people at Furman. But now, it is a striking novelty. It is strange, new, unique and different. This is not the world as it is, anymore. It is an unforeseen culture, which yes i knew was present. But it is a funny thing to return to.
A friend on the trip mentioned this reality to me. They said that me, white, standing out in Africa was the same as a black student at Furman. And I felt it might be an exaggeration. At Furman, there is a common language, common food, common spaces, after all.
But, then, in Africa, there was a common language too [English]. And common food. And spaces.
I think my friend was more accurate than I at first recognized.
I think part of culture shock is the realization that to belong can sometimes be a choice, and sometimes it cannot. I did not have the choice to 'belong', to blend in, to be part of the many cultures. But on my return, i can choose whether or not to again belong to this culture, in which so much of my allegiance lies unbeknownst and unquestioned.
It is a strange chance to be born again, should I choose so to do. To be new to a culture I've always known, to embrace and be embraced by it.
To be free to just live, to just do it. To not think about the hard things, the big things. They say ignorance is bliss.
But it does not exist.
And, really, it's not that great.
And if you know me well, you know that's not what I want anyway. It's not something i chose, nor something i'm choosing now.
Culture shock is not as harrowing for me as I had expected. It is not so scary, as some thought it would be. I am stable. I am rejoicing in God, celebrating in His calling here. I am pursuing opportunities this summer to chase Him further. I am excited, and I am growing. Yet, I am stable. Not because I found myself in Africa. And not because I find myself here. On Christ I stand, and I'm born in Him alone. I am learning to jump the kraal and the tank, because neither is suitable for my calling. Nor is it suitable for yours.
I am not sure if this is the last email. You can ensure that it is your last by requesting to come off the list. I will again cry, but what with the workload of late i'm braced for tears anyhow ;)
In Africa, I am the black sheep. In America, I am the fish. In God, I am human. And I'll choose to find Myself in that.
-drew
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