alpha and table mountain

The Alpha conference is being held in a large cathedral. It is mostly concrete with tall multi colored glass windows. The pastor is called Father Frank. The conference is for all southern African nations to gather together and learn more about the Alpha course and share best practices. There are three of us in our Mozambican delegation, Sergio, Ezekiel and me. They do prison ministry and I, youth.

The more I hear about the Alpha course, the more I am impressed.  And apparently so is Prince Charles. (www.alpha.org)

I was the only white girl representing an African nation and that was just surreal. So honored. Other than the Alpha workers from SA so they didn’t count. I am just in awe of how I am being equipped to do what I do. It sounds silly that a little course can change a life but this one does and it has had great impact across the world. The Alpha course is bringing people together and revealing Christ to all the nations. And the more insane thing is that it has been dropped in my lap. I know it is God at work, equipping me with what I need. Once again, I don’t really need to DO anything. I just show up and He shows me and takes me to Zambia and trains me. I am sure I will share more about it as we walk it out practically. We are in week 6 with my students and plan to do more courses with various groups in the future. I want to do one with my Hartwell friends when I come home. Email me if you want to join. 

Being the only white girl was a bit awkward. I never pretend to be African, although they are rubbing off on me. But I am not familiar with being the minority. And when I am put in a place of all black, I feel so all white. It is not really a bad thing, I just realize how white I am.  Or maybe it is just how American I am.  Even though, I spend a good part of my day trying to show my kids how we can connect and how I am not that different, I feel so so different. Culturally, there are so many contrasts. It forces me to dig deep into relational things that only we as human beings could share. I have to shed my casual conversations of fashion and media and food and share my stories and human emotions. So I think it is why I find it exhausting. I am not used to having to dig so deep and share with such intention. The Africans don’t let me off the hook. That, and I really struggle with the accents. English was spoken the entire conference and the conversations I understood most clearly were the ones I had in Portuguese with my Mozambican brothers.

So I think it all just forces me to take a look at my place in this culture and in this country and find out who I truly am. 

I met with a friend of a friend who is a missionary there, a beautiful blonde 23 year old girl who in the process of adopting a precious Zambian 3 year old. That whole experience was just incredible. As a childless woman in Africa where there are so many orphaned children, this is something I do think about and can remotely identify with the needs. You can’t help but think about it. You cannot help but feel something. Riding in the car with Sophie I just sat amazed. God told her to adopt this child, the doors opened and now this little black face is in the back seat. At 35, I can barely take care of myself and certainly not a squirmy little girl. I simply just cannot imagine.  I cannot imagine one day, plane hopping and doing life so independently and then one day getting this child that fully belongs to you and needs you for everything. I understand pregnancy. I understand your body goes through all the emotions and hormones function and men are somewhere in the mix to help. But I can’t get my head around just getting this little human being and taking it home. Especially here. I could maybe do in it America. Maybe. With a nanny and a babysitter and my sister and my mom and dad and nieces and friends and if I didn’t have to have a job. But here? All I know is this girl is amazing and her sweet little girl stole my heart a little bit. And I still just sit here and shake my head it total amazement of the whole experience of meeting Sophie. She is just incredible, intense, strong, amazing and lovely. 

Sophie was also my hook up for Zambian shopping. She took me to the mall and local shopping center. They were both just bad. The mall is pitiful. It is way worse than South Rand. It is newly built and a huge facility but full of tacky stores. There is a huge store called “game” that is owned by Wal-Mart. It was full of way over priced electronics. It was actually closed when we went but I don’t need overpriced electronics. The other stores were just bad clothing shops, with peculiar mismatched mannequins in the windows. I don’t even know where this stuff is made or designed. It was like China meets India meets Dollar General. I was excited to see what looked like a proper frozen yogurt shop. It had large posters of fresh kiwi and raspberries. I chose the medium so I could get two toppings but the toppings were bad. They were bad stale cookies and  bottom of the tin canned fruit. I got a plain yogurt. The girl at the checkout counter claimed to not have change but after a long back and forth debate about how that was all the money I had and she could keep the yogurt and as I turned to walk away, she miraculously pulled change from her register. I hope that living in Africa will make me a little more patient and a little more understanding. But there are endless situations that I do not understand. I want to see this nation strive for excellence in all things. I hope I don’t appear to be judgemental or critical. I am just telling you what I saw and what happened. This no change thing and bad customer service is a theme in Mozambique too. And it doesn’t need to be that way. I don’t want to see Africa Americanized. I want to see them just walk in the fullness of who they were as a nation created to be and I just think this means greet customers with a smile and have change for a 50000 kwacha. Even writing this sounds insensitive. You have to know that I am not. I have had two cups of strong coffee and just have no where else to go. The sun is shining. I am wearing boots and a sweater. I have a view of Table Mountain. Music in my ears and a full belly. And a hand drawn map to the nearest pharmacy!

Sophie also offered to take me to the local market on Sunday morning. I had heard there was a local market at the Arcades on Sunday and was happy to learn that she was going anyway and invited me to come along. The outdoor market was about three rows of maybe 40 venders. Many had the same things and many were typical african wood carvings and primary color simple paintings. You have to dig and be alert. I found a really cool bow and arrow that I wanted to get Carson. It was very hand crafted but ultimately looked dangerous for a 9 year old and complicated to bring home and still overpriced at $40. They had typical paper and glue necklaces that are bright and colorful and sold all over Africa. I bought 4. They also had gem stones and silver. I bought Carla a bracelet in a rainbow of cat's eye and a set of pale lilac gemstones set in silver, earrings, ring and pendant, all for less than $120. I could have probably bargained more and been more selective, but was pressed for time with a plane to catch. I later went into a more proper jewelry store and was able to give myself a small education on what all they have there and an idea of prices. Apparently you can find jade and coral and all sorts of stones in Zambia and prices are decent. The jewelry store was packed with Asians buying stones and pearls. I also bought a painting from the market from a nice guy in dreadlocks named Jeff. I rarely see African art that I like but this one was different. It spoke to me and I knew this vibrant oil painting of mama's breastfeeding their babies needed to go with me wherever I go as a remembrance. 

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Praise God neither lady at neither South African Airways counter looked long and hard at my immunization date and I was able to board my flight. The first lady did look at it and she even looked inquisitively at the date but as soon as she furrowed her brow, someone handed her something and she was distracted and I just reached out for my yellow card and she gave it back to me. Later, two people were taken off the plane because of invalid yellow card documentation.

I landed in Cape Town last night. It was cold. 

It feels good to be in modern. It feels good to have internet. The house I am staying in is cold and drafty and I pray I don’t catch a cold. I found wool socks in the drawer and have them on. My nose is cold. 

I came to a little coffee shop for a breakfast of toast and poached eggs, tomatoes and sauteed mushrooms. It was delicious. Now it is almost time for lunch. I have been told there is a pharmacy nearby and I need to stock up on basics, vitamins, deodorant, cortisone cream and shampoo. But for now I don’t want to leave this little spot. I am perched on a stool with all you can drink mint and lemon water. I have a great view of the back of Table Mountain. I am in Cape Town. 

I have plans for a cut and color this week. Also to go to a farm for a night of sleep and rest. There is a difference. But for now I am elated to be in a modern city. I also have plans to meet my friend Marie at the waterfront. Get dressed up, hair and make up, meet, hug, talk, eat. I am looking forward to it. I could cry. This is the stuff I miss. And I miss it so deep down that I almost don’t feel it any more. I miss meeting friends for coffee. Although, I rarely did it to be honest. But I miss it just the same. I miss all things Atlanta and all things city and friends and normal and shopping and sights and colors and smells. Someone stole my perfume Carla gave me out of my suitcase. Bummed about that. But if there is anything I have learned in my life of 35 years, it's that all things come from God. Freely give, freely receive. Someone stole my perfume, it just means I will get some back. I don’t even have to seek it out, it will come back to me. In some scent or another. A little sad because Carla gave it to me and picked it out for me and I incredibly sentimental. So now some Zambian man at the airport smells like Grace. And I smell like my $9 wool sweater I got in the South Rand mall. 

Ezekiel and Sergio