Monday, February 08, 2010
Reflections on a Life for Living
As I sat in a very plain chair, leaning forward to catch the shade of a recently trimmed orange tree, it was hard to explain exactly what I felt. It was barely six in the morning and the ever hot sun was scorching as it had all year long. Even the showy teenage boys were trying to get out of having to act tough in that heat.
I had taken a sick neighbor to the hospital on my little 49cc bike as a rude awakening to my Christmas day pledge to try and sleep in past 4:30 and make it a late morning. I thought I might take advantage of the opportunity to pick out a good leg of goat from the market and maybe some bread and sugar for the neighbors to eat with tea on my treat.
When I went back to check out the patient, the local government official called me over and offered me a chair. There in front of it was a feast: fried eggs, fried potatoes, toast, butter, tea, mango, pineapple, and even a chicken wing. He told me to eat. I did. It was very good.
We talked about how dry it was and how the year had been hard and how the school had grown and so forth, the usual fare. It was all comical inasmuch as he sat there in his boxers, too hot to even move as we ate and talked, and as he complained about his "little hut" in the city not being finished. His little hut is made of cement and has several floors.
This caused me to reflect on how good God has been to me. None of my western friends have had an experience like that. Succulent fruit and a great breakfast from the top local government official as we sit in the partial shade of an orange tree and looked out over the valley which cowered from the burning heat of the sun.
Two days earlier I had gone with another friend way back on a bush trail, crossing rivers and waterfalls and passing through dense jungles. We had gone to slaughter another goat and find green coconuts. Legend has it that the pool above the falls is home to large crocodiles, but we did not see them. The kids were sliding down the falls, since the water fell gently and beautifully across a smooth rock and spilt into a lower pool. I thought man, if my brothers were here, we would all go crazy playing in that paradise.
Later on Christmas day, I went to hang out with some friends and shoot the breeze at the local market over a bottle of Fanta. Before I could go, the local traditional king invited me to share in his goat neck. It was smeared in greens from the goat's small intestine, just how they like it, and cooked in a light peanut sauce with hot pepper and onion on rice. That is what I am talking about.
Over there, about a kilometer's distance, the drunkards and troublemakers fought, passed out, laughed, and danced right through morning dawn, while I went to bed early and prepare for a day of work at sunrise.
Here, they say I have spent the holidays alone, miserable, isolated. Here they say the bush is getting to me. Here, they say it is not safe and you cannot just live out there like that. They say that you cannot eat what they eat. If you only had eyes to see what I see!
I had taken a sick neighbor to the hospital on my little 49cc bike as a rude awakening to my Christmas day pledge to try and sleep in past 4:30 and make it a late morning. I thought I might take advantage of the opportunity to pick out a good leg of goat from the market and maybe some bread and sugar for the neighbors to eat with tea on my treat.
When I went back to check out the patient, the local government official called me over and offered me a chair. There in front of it was a feast: fried eggs, fried potatoes, toast, butter, tea, mango, pineapple, and even a chicken wing. He told me to eat. I did. It was very good.
We talked about how dry it was and how the year had been hard and how the school had grown and so forth, the usual fare. It was all comical inasmuch as he sat there in his boxers, too hot to even move as we ate and talked, and as he complained about his "little hut" in the city not being finished. His little hut is made of cement and has several floors.
This caused me to reflect on how good God has been to me. None of my western friends have had an experience like that. Succulent fruit and a great breakfast from the top local government official as we sit in the partial shade of an orange tree and looked out over the valley which cowered from the burning heat of the sun.
Two days earlier I had gone with another friend way back on a bush trail, crossing rivers and waterfalls and passing through dense jungles. We had gone to slaughter another goat and find green coconuts. Legend has it that the pool above the falls is home to large crocodiles, but we did not see them. The kids were sliding down the falls, since the water fell gently and beautifully across a smooth rock and spilt into a lower pool. I thought man, if my brothers were here, we would all go crazy playing in that paradise.
Later on Christmas day, I went to hang out with some friends and shoot the breeze at the local market over a bottle of Fanta. Before I could go, the local traditional king invited me to share in his goat neck. It was smeared in greens from the goat's small intestine, just how they like it, and cooked in a light peanut sauce with hot pepper and onion on rice. That is what I am talking about.
Over there, about a kilometer's distance, the drunkards and troublemakers fought, passed out, laughed, and danced right through morning dawn, while I went to bed early and prepare for a day of work at sunrise.
Here, they say I have spent the holidays alone, miserable, isolated. Here they say the bush is getting to me. Here, they say it is not safe and you cannot just live out there like that. They say that you cannot eat what they eat. If you only had eyes to see what I see!
