The Post That Has No Name

I don't know what to call this post yet, but give me a second.

...

Just kidding, I i still don't know what to call it.


I haven't posted anything on my blog in a really long time; I remember always wanting it to be better (and, actually, hating the zebra background but being unable to find anything better). I remember loving the responses that I got, even though there weren't many comments. More than anything, I loved looking at the statistics and seeing the audience spread across the globe. I was an awkward highschooler who was happy to have any readers and nothing was better than seeing the countries that the readers were from; not only Namibia and the United States, but Russia, France, South Africa, Latvia, and several others. I loved learning about what people love to read (which, by the way, is not this post, because there are no photos and it is not arranged in an oddly satisfying list of information).


However, when I left for college, I found it harder to write anything. I had all these ideas for better posts and I wanted to make a prettier, more exciting blog out of this. Maybe I will someday, when I get my head around everything that I'm doing (ha.) or at least feel more like a grown up (when does that kick in?) or just maybe when I've sorted exactly what it is to be a grown up missionary kid.


Which is complicated, by the way; sinking into my existence as a repatriated adult MK. My life isn't so exotic. My window panes aren't dusty. My feet don't ache from hours of dance. I no longer wake up to the cries and happy sounds that little girls make when they're getting ready for school or to the light of the Namibian sun as it rises to bake the roof of our house. I miss youth group and music and teaching dance classes, but I miss being Ousie most of all.


And it isn't all gone, by the way (I'd like to end on a happier note). There's a reason I cannot prioritize blogging anymore! I'm learning great things and it's all coming at me at eighty words per minute (which is my typing speed, by the way), at the speed of whipping pirouettes (which I can barely do anymore), and I feel like a child with a whole lot of big, grown up decisions on the table in front of me, but it's so exciting. I have places to go, things to discover, people to love - a future, but also a past I'm still connected to.


And I'm praying all the time that I never forget where I am from.

Colors of the World

Let's just say that I felt like I really needed to share some pictures. Here below are a collection of my favorite photos from my Pinterest Board 'Colors of the World'. I personally feel like this is the one board that took any kind of artistic talent to put together. I didn't take any of them ... or edit any of them ... but hey! The collection itself was in original idea that was begging to be put together.




























 








So that's the beauty of people! Credits to God for the artistry. Thanks to the photographers.

The Question

As of today (Thursday) we have a week and four days till we leave Otjiwarongo. Our trip back to America starts July 1st (driving to the capital, then spending the night there) then arriving at Dulles on July 3rd. My room is a wreck of half-packed clothes, makeup and miscellaneous items. Anyone want a denim Bible case? A pair of size 3 [US s6] heels? A box of random craft stuff I've never found the time to use?

A week and four days.
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAAAAHH!!!!!! OH MY GOODNESS.

This is the weird part where I say good bye to people in Africa (who have become my entire teen-hood) and say 'See you next year!' and go back to the people that, in a certain way, I left behind with my childhood (not that I've forgotten you - I love you, my Americaners!) - this is the part where I see what remains of the friendships I've been (not-so-diligently) keeping alive through letters and Facebook since I was twelve years old. For those who don't know, we're going on six years since we moved to Africa.

Returning to our old churches, Co-ops, dance classes and Youth Groups, we'll likely face warm welcomes and bear hugs. On sabbatical, like any other missionary, we'll go to friends' houses, "need-to-catch-up" meetings at restaurants and visit our supporters' Churches. The missionary goes from volunteer work in hospitals, schools and growing churches on the mission field to suddenly adopting the job of 'Nomadic Socialite' on their trip to the Motherland. Yep. My job (and that of my parents) is to talk to people.

Oddly, in the middle of that, I will likely face the Alien-sensation; take that however you want. The MK (oooor military brat, exchange student, immigrant, etc.) who faces their childhood home again will probably find it odd to be back ... and feel like the world has moved on without them. And depending on how different their other culture is, they may also feel like they have a third eyeball growing in the middle of their head.

 It's great to have friends greet you with enthusiasm and ask you questions about your life in Africa (or wherever). Even better is the look on their faces when you speak as fast as you can in some crazy foreign language that they've never even heard the name of. All that is fine and dandy - in fact, most of the above mentioned are pleasures enjoyed solely by Third-Culture-Kids.

But there's something huge missing. Let's return to the phrase above - which, by the way, I completely made up - Alien-sensation. I remember how I felt like a foreigner in my own country. Yep. I said it. I was surrounded by friendly people, but down in my spirit I knew very well that I didn't belong. My clothing, the things I said, and my social awkwardness didn't help me much. (This second-go-'round, I think I'll be better at all of that.)

But something else separates the American-African that isolates them in a crowd of Westerners. Honestly, there are emotions and situations that very few single-culture people understand - this can lead to a deep loneliness in those separated from their mission field. (Interestingly, studies have shown that MK's from completely different countries tend to feel at home in each other's presence. We share 'the commonality of our differences'.)


 Of course, the loneliness is not the worst of it! There's one thing ... one terrible, awkward, heart-wrenching question that Americans and other Western non-travelling citizens use to terrorize their poor, victimized missionaries on a regular basis. And by a regular basis, I mean just about every single day. *deep breath*  (I can hardly type it).



                                                How's.        Africa.



That's it. Just plain ol' 'Hey, how's Africa?' from a friend or relative is destructive to the Missionary's view of said person. You have lost about ten brownie points. Did your I.Q. level just drop? Did you just get 3 inches shorter? Now that I think of it, you kind of smell. And your brow is protruding ominously over your eyes.


I'm just kidding. I started that paragraph trying to make a point, but then I couldn't stop my nasty facetious personality from taking control of the keyboard. Do understand, there's no one I look down on that much. Especially not someone who unknowingly walked into the Danger Zone of a sarcastic, talkative, I-know-everything redhead. Really though, roughly half of the MK's in Africa you'll come across will be annoyed by this question. And practically all of the ones I talked to found the question very hard to answer.

My response is usually a smile with a connotative 'All kinds of stuff. How's the continent of North America been lately?'



The Part II of this post is coming up where I will provide solutions for the problem I have brought up. Mean while, do refrain from asking the question.