acculturation

acculturation-- n.  1. The modification of a culture of a group or individual as a result of contact with a different culture. 2. The process by which the culture of a particular society is instilled in a human being from infancy onward.

A few weeks ago my three-year-old daughter ran up to me with a pout and stated in no uncertain terms that she “doesn’t like Africans.” 

Shoke.  Swallow. Shock.  Mortification. 

Of course at that very moment I was in a public setting while I was visiting with…an "African."  What is a parent to do?  At the time all I could think of was to mumble something about being careful that only kind words come out of her mouth and that we would talk about what she meant later…while also saying a quick prayer of thanks that my daughter had chosen to say those words in a language not commonly understood by the general public.

Later came. And my sweet, honest little daughter, once again emphatically stated that she doesn’t like Africans.  And so began an ongoing conversation that came up over the course of several weeks.  As any sensitive parent we started off with gentle questions like, “What makes you say that, sweetie?” (I just don’t like them.)  We discussed God’s  love for all people and how we want to be like Him. (Yes, I know He died for Africans but I just don’t like them).  We talked about the inherent inaccuracy of her statement in that off the top of her head she can name a half a dozen people she adores who are African.  (Well, I love them, but I don’t like all the other Africans).  

And we have taken the opportunity to spend a good deal of time addressing the point that one doesn’t need to speak out loud every thought one has—especially if it is unkind.

I have to say that after several weeks of this issue re-surfacing I was beginning to experience some very strong feelings of inadequacy both as a parent and as a believer living in Africa.  I mean, these are some fundamental issues—“loving your neighbor as yourself,”  “unity in the body of Christ,” “in humility considering others better than ourselves,” imitating Christ in making oneself nothing so as to be relevant to those we have come to serve, not to mention “taming the tongue”—ideas that we value and have attempted to instill in our children.  Where have we gone so wrong?

Then the other day as we were driving down the road, literally out of the blue she leaned forward and asked, “Mom, can I laugh too?”  (Whaaaat?)  “I’ve decided that I will like Africans if I can laugh, too.” (Oh.  Um.  What exactly are you talking about?)  “They are always laughing at me.  And I know you said it’s their culture and they aren’t being unkind.  But I still don’t like it when they laugh at me when I get hurt.  But if you say that I can laugh at them, too, then I won’t get angry any more.  So can I, Mom?  Can I laugh at them, too?”

“Yes, sweetie.  You can laugh, too.  They want you to laugh with them.”

So...all this time I've been worrying about how to address prejudice and snobbery in my three-year old while she's been wrestling with being embarassed by a culture she's trying to understand.  And in the end she decides that rather than remain hurt and offended  she will adjust her own thinking (North American culture--We don’t laugh at people when they get hurt) to that of those around her (Mozambican culture—We laugh to lighten a tense or embarrassing moment). 

Acculturation.

P.S. In the off chance she laugh's hysterically at your child when he falls and scrapes his knee...oh...we'll deal with that when it comes.

 

trip to the bush

A week ago we packed up our children and a trailer full of supplies and set off on an eight hour trip to the province of Zambezia to visit our colleagues who live in the bush.  This family has lived among one of the people groups in Mozambique for the past six or so years, have learned the local language, and have presented the Gospel in that people group's heart language and continued on with discipleship and Bible translation. 

We spent five days with them and thorougly enjoyed our visit.  We were able to visit with the new believers in the community and Stefan had the opportunity to share with some of the men in the evenings.  I went with my friend to visit some ladies in their homes and was so encouraged by their joy in their newfound faith. It was a privilege to pray with them and talk to them about how they are connected to a great community of believers accross the world.   And at one of the homes I "got" to eat monkey--something I haven't eaten since I was a child in the Amazon jungle.

 Our kids were delighted to be out of the city and played outside all day long chasing the chickens, playing in the sand, finding interesting plants and animals and...(definitely their favorite part of being in the bush)...making fires.

Each day the kids faithfully collected wood and built a fire to warm water for our "dip baths" each evening.  And although they clearly took their task seriously, mostly they just had fun playing with fire all day long.

Christian kept an ongoing collection of frogs during our visit.   However, the chickens and hogs that our colleagues raise for food also drew a lot of interest from all of our kids.  Not to mention the goats and hogs and dogs wandering around from all of the neighbors.

Although our children of course do not speak the local language and the local  children don't speak Portugese, children are natrually attracted to eachother and they were soon playing together as children typically do.  At many times our kids were laughed at mercilessly since their mannerisms are so different and strange to these African children. 

The kids also enjoyed all of the simple and fresh food we ate during our visit.  Although we did bring a hefty trailer of supplies in for our colleagues, most of their diet consists of unprocessed locally grown food.  Naturally food preparation and storage is a part of their daily living and everyone helped and learned from the food preparations.

Part of life here is, of course killing your own supper.  However, up until now, our kids had not really experienced that first hand and they were very excited to be able to participate in preparing a rooster for dinner. 

Christian, had no qualms about holding the tied rooster as preparations were made for it's demise.

In fact, the boys were pretty excited about their responsibility to hold the rooster while their daddy was to do the actual killing.  Now, if you know anything about killing a chicken and if you know anything about my husband, you know what was about to happen and why Stefan was trying to keep from smirking as he explained to the boys to hold on tightly.

Stefan quickly and mercifully ended the poor rooster's life.  And unfortunately, I have no picture of the chaos that ensued because I was too busy laughing.  For those of you who don't know, chickens seem to put up most of their fight AFTER they have been killed or beheaded as their nerves continue to work for a short while.  So about the time Stefan stepped back, the rooster's dead body began its mighty fight and the boys (predictably) let go in terror.

They ran around the yard after it screaming and when they finally caught up to it the look on my fearless son Christian's face was priceless.

Cohen eventually braved picking up the rooster again and held it up proudly.  Least you think this experience was traumatic for them in any way, they were eager to kill their own dinner again on another day.  But I do think they have a healthy appreciation that even a rooster's death is not merely exciting entertainment...if Christian's white blood-spattered face was any indication.

Speaking of entertainment...on our return trip to Nampula the trailer hitch broke (again and in a different place than our last trip).  We were stranded in an isolated community for two and a half hours while we looked for help.  And if you wonder what a girl's to do with four wound-up and exhausted children out in the middle of no where while her sweet-heart is trying to fix a trailer hitch...well, that would be a good question. 

Mostly we provided entertainment for the community by...just being us.  According to the one or two  men who spoke Portuguese, the villagers had never seen white children before.  So they all crowded around staring and laughing at every expression or movement our children made.  As for our children, they were not so thrilled about having their pale skin caressed or their their hair pulled by strangers....or having to use the bathroom behind thin grass with everyone peering at them.   But they survived (as their parents--who had the same things done to them as children in South America--told them they would).  And eventually help came and we made it home to Nampula later that same night.

And although their daddy and mommy enjoyed a nice hot SHOWER...the kids were already wishing for a dip bath with water they had heated themselves.

trip to the ocean

This past week we packed up our vehicle and trailer to head out on a four-day trip to the coast.  The kids have been asking to got to the beach since we first returned to Mozambique six months ago as their memories of Mozambique had most definitely included sand and water.

Cohen (now seven years old) has been enjoying more and more responsibilites and seems to sit just a bit straighter and taller every time he his given a man-sized task--like helping to lock up the trailer withe all of our food and supplies for our get-away.

Alex said her goodbyes to her very good friend, Jacinta.

Spirits high, the children pleaded for one "crazy" picture.  And then we were off...

...and this is not the beach.

This is us broken down on the side of the road.

Although a majority of the two and a half hour drive to the coast is pretty smooth, the last half hour the roads are quite terrible and on one particularly bad jolt, the trailer hitch broke.  Thankfully, it was ONLY the trailer hitch and nothing serious on the car.  And thankfully, we had friends who were only an hour and a half behind us who had planned to meet us at the beach.  So we made the best of it and the kids played in the sand on the side of the road while we waited.

Apparently our being stranded on the side of the road was THE sight to see for all passing by.  I kid you not, people count our kids every time they see us out as a family.  Although Mozambican families always have a passle of children, they are not usually accustomed to seeing "white" people--let alone "white" people with four children. 

We did finally make it to the beach, after our friends came along and picked up our trailer.

It was just as much fun as the older ones remembered. Alex got to experience the ocean for the first time as I got to re-live the panicky feeling of my babies being completely unafraid of the water.

We found hermit crabs and starfish and all manner of other sea creatures.

When not at the beach, we relaxed at a cabin while the kids explored.

Wesley and Alex found the hammocks and claimed them for our stay.  (Don't let this picture fool you--most of the time they were screeching at eachother for their turn).

We spent the evenings around a fire with our friends and co-workers.

There is nothing quite like huddling around a fire on a cool evening after a day in the sand and water.

We brought back little red noses, towels loaded wtih sand, and a few hermit crabs destined for an untimely end at the hands of over-zealous keepers. 

Love the ocean.

"daddy's chores"

The kids usually look forward to a family movie and home-made pizza on Saturday evenings, but halfway through dinner, their daddy got a call that changed our plans.  One of Stefan's Mozambican friends was going through a family crisis and needed someone to talk to--so in less than a minute he was gone. 

And there I sat with four children sitting around the table staring at me--their expectations dashed--not to mention my own...and a mountain of dishes in the kitchen.  So I put it to the children--their daddy was called away on an important task to help someone who needed help--what could we do to make that happen?  The kids thought about it for a moment then suggested that maybe they could do "Daddy's chores" so that he could go help his friend and wouldn't have to do them when he got home later this evening.  So glad they thought of that themselves (wink).

And so we began our evening of service.  Cohen (6) volunteered to wash the dishes and Christian (5) offered to dry.  Wesley (3) was given the task of playing with and caring for Alex (1 1/2).  We turned on some music and set to work.  Admittedly, the dish towel is a bit greasy this evening after cleaning off some food our volunteer dish washer missed.  And admittedly the volunteer dish drier got distracted when Steve Fee's "Glory To God" song played over the ipod and he dashed off to lead his two younger sisters in a jamming session in the living room.  And truthfully, Wesley has a very limited ability to corall and entertain her younger sister without simultaneously making her scream.  Between dishes and sweeping and drumming, it was soon bedime. 

I of course appreciated their help and cooperation, but mostly what brought so much joy to the evening was seeing that they seemed to grasp that they were doing it SO THAT their Dad could do his work.  It was not just a "salvaged" evening together--it became a purposeful and meaningful evening--right on down to little Alex clapping her hands and dancing to the music.

It also struck me that this kind of evening was possible because of who Stefan is.  I'm not talking about him being the kind of guy who will drop his home-made pizza on a Saturday night to go help a friend--although he is that.  The truth is, many fathers miss their dinners because of work.  Many fathers miss family movie night to go hang out with friends.  Many fathers miss tucking their kids in to bed because their "ministry" has called them away.  But my kids' father doesn't.  He makes it a habit to be home to share dinner with us.  He works hard and we juggle schedules so that Saturdays are spent together as a family.  He washes Saturday evening dishes (usually).  As a family we are "full."  And because we are full, when an emergency comes up, we can swallow our temporary dissappointment, wave good bye, and "do his chores."  We know that tomorrow we will have supper together and that chances are, next Saturday we will all watch a movie together. 

 And of course he'll do next Saturday evening's dishes...right honey?