Being exposed to so many new cultures has been great. I realised that until now I have had this kind of un-thought-about innate assumption that there was an "African" culture, and I suppose by implication that the different countries were therefore in some way sub-cultures. Of course, that's ridiculous; just as ridiculous as it would be to claim there's a European culture and that the Finns are basically just English people in funny hats. So it has been nice to nip that train of thought off this week and get an insight into the diversity in Africa.
One day towards the end of the week, Jacob from DRC came over to our house unannounced and we had a really great chat about life and work and so forth. He has the distinction of being one of only a handful of men I have ever shaken hands with who is taller than me, and the only one with longer legs. He is 203cm tall to my 199, and has 38" inside legs to my 37". And, by-the-by, there's an insight into Tall Culture for all you vertically unremarkable people out there: when you're tall you just love sitting down with another tall person to compare vital statistics and amenable shopping destinations, certainly much more than you love people asking you what the weather is like up there, as if it was funny the first time you heard it, let alone the nine hundred and thirty seventh. Jacob is on row four in a grey shirt to your right of the white guy in the lurid orange jacket.
With having so many people around for so much of the time, Daniel has really been growing in confidence and now will just go off and play on his own (within limits) on the farm. A couple of days ago I was at home when Daniel rushed in, "Daddy, I've just seen some boys I don't know, can I go and play with them?". That, in itself, was a real milestone, but what happened next was fantastic. I was trying to work out who the boys might be so I could set Daniel the appropriate boundaries - the kids of the predominantly Zulu farm workers quite often just go off into the woods on their own which is out of bounds for Daniel - so I asked him if they were white boys or black boys. He thought about if for a long time then eventually said "I can't remember. Does it matter?". A better illustration that kids are colour blind and prejudice-free will be hard to find.
Both the boys are changing lots at the moment: Daniel is becoming more confident and self assured, and getting much better at controlling his behaviour, while Reuben is starting to push the boundaries and is talking more, putting coherent sentences together (coherent to us, anyway). Daniel is learning to play chess, and has got pretty good at Risk. They say the saddest day in a kid's life is the day he realises he can beat his dad at most things. Daniel has experienced that at the age of five*.
You'll remember from a previous blog that the international trainees stay at the farm for three months of training, while the guys from South Africa come and go for a series of intensives interspersed with practical weeks implementing what they learned. The SA guys have just come back for the second of their intensives and it is really great to see them - there are some shining stars who we'll be staying in contact with as friends, and the boys love spending time with them all. Related to that, we've finally settled on a church (it's only taken two months), where one of the trainees is the youth and children's worker. It's small, friendly, well-led, and has good teaching and worship. And, good as those reasons are for going, there's another really big bonus: kids' group starts at 9am while the main church doesn't start until 10. This means all the parents get an hour off to sit and read and have coffee. It is so civilised that I may never again be completely satisfied with another church.
When we arrived in January we really hit the ground running, so the expression goes. We didn't have time to stop and think or to miss home. Friends here warned us that the homesickness would kick in during the third month. They were dead right: I am beginning to miss home and family and life back in the UK. I find myself worrying about the projects I left at work, about our house, about friends. I hit a problem with some DIY and go to the cupboard to get the correct tool only to remember that the tool is in a different cupboard, 12,000km away because for some reason it never occurred to me that I should pack a 14lb sledge hammer or a MIG welder. But really these are all small sacrifices. If the greatest challenges we face are homesickness and an inability to joint metal, then we'll be getting off lightly.
And so we return to the blog title: The Bride Price. The church is often referred to as the bride of Christ: it is his handmaiden, his love. It is how he is changing the world. But there is a price to pay: every one of the leaders in J-Life has sacrificed lots to follow the path they believe is right, as have we. They have given up comfort, and in some cases their safety and security, to spread a message of hope and love and to train others in the skills of making leaders to make disciples to spread that message. We know lawyers, financiers, businessmen, and college principles who have given those things up to be J-Life leaders. Nobody we have spoken to regrets the decision. We certainly don't.
So, like the lobola, the price may be high, but the return is worth the investment.
* Groening et al, Simpsons Season 1, Moaning Lisa
