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My Heart & My Hands
Anna G. Joujan
© Copyright 2016 by Anna G.
Joujan
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Photo by the author. |
It was the dance that did
it. Sure, we exchanged the necessary formalities when one leaves a
place where one has been hosted; there were the thank yous
["bareka"], the farewells [a slight bow combined with a nod
of the head, and hands pressed together as if in prayer], and the
exchange of gifts [2 Guinea fowl, 1 rooster, and a large bowl of
their eggs--those of the Guinea fowl, not those of the rooster ;-)].
But I am convinced that the moment of significance--that in which the
people of this village really felt, and believed, our hearts, came at
the end of the formalities.
We had prepared a few
simple things for this goodbye meeting but, knowing a bit about the
nature of life here, we also recognized that things would likely not
go as planned when we arrived at the designated meeting place at the
designated time--or, more precisely, 20 minutes beforehand, to
indicate that we were ready for the gathering. This allowed for a
gradual trickle of people to start arriving. Soon we realized that a
greater percentage of the population than we anticipated would be
there; we decided, then, that we should move to the other meeting
"hall." So chairs and benches were placed on top of heads
and we walked down the road to the bigger mango tree; the intensity
of daytime sun makes the shade of dense trees like the mango to be
the only reasonable place to be--even the shade offered by a building
becomes somewhat sauna-like with this level of dry heat. As we
walked, my husband placed his water bottle on his head. It did not
last very long there, but we decided that we should start practicing
the method with small items. I used to assume that the head was used
for larger or heavier items, but since moving here have noticed it to
be simply another way to carry things: we see people with hands free
but a head balancing lunch, or a drink. Thinking about the habit of
favoring one hand over the other, I suspect that regular
head-carrying may improve both posture and balance. I have also
noticed a bit of a hunching in the shoulders as of late, so in good
meddling-wife fashion, I suggest to Peter that perhaps he should pull
this water bottle trick with regularity :-) But I digress--back to
the mango tree meeting.
Once we had repositioned
ourselves under the larger tree, the aforementioned formalities
began. Truthfully, I did not feel as if I had done much to thank for.
We had spent the week there on a medical mission and, with no medical
background, the majority of our party walked around meeting people
while the doctor and his wife labored all day to serve the endless
stream of men, women, and children with all manner of skin, limb,
dental, and other ailments. For the rest of us, the hardship was less
in the work itself and more just in physical discomforts associated
with village life.
For one, we joked about
how far away the outhouse was. Considering the large quantity of
fiber we were consuming, this was an actual issue: we had brought
large bags of potatoes to toss in the cooking fire. We had not
brought any foil, so just tossed them in with the coals. Depending on
how impatient one was at any given point, the end result of the
consumption of each potato would be either slightly burned, or just
charcoal black fingers and face. The first day, I happily ate several
large [hot ;-)] potatoes before deciding I was done. As is my custom,
I then slathered petroleum jelly [i.e. all-purpose moisturizer] onto
my face and hands. A few minutes later, one teammate came over,
smiling at me, and announcing that she was taking a photo. "Ok,"
I shrugged, mildly curious about her giggles but too tired to care
all that much. Eventually I was alerted to the fact that I was
sporting the fashionable charcoal-black makeup trend. Peter and I
thought this might make an appropriate time for us to reenact our
wedding using current cuisine as a replacement for the wedding cake
that we actually skipped over the first time as well [I had instead
opted for a DIY strawberry shortcake that seemed more fitting for our
simple farm/barn ceremony]. Strawberry shortcake in a mason jar,
charred sweet potato ... Same difference, eh?
The elements were another
"hardship" of the week: namely, the dry heat. We are
accustomed to heat, but not used to being outside in it, in the
hottest parts of the day. Our work lives in the school mean that we
are generally inside when it is too hot to safely be out. For this
trip, however, we were wandering the village with no prior knowledge
or destination, so no idea how long until the next patch of shade
where we may find people to talk to. One morning before setting out I
had an idea. Remembering the research I had done on surviving
temperature extremes, before my move to Afghanistan, I looked at the
sachet of drinking water in my hand. It had chilled enough to freeze.
I took a strip of fabric and wrapped it around the sachet, then tied
it around my head so that the ice was strapped to my forehead. It was
a decent portable air conditioner, with a twist: we drink these
waters by tearing off a corner of the plastic. With my sachet already
being drunk out of, this meant that as it melted, the water would
drip out. Once I had discovered this effect, I began to sing "I'm
a little teapot" each time the melted water had accumulated
enough for my "pour me out" to be a nice little flow. It
was also another patch of brilliance so far as fashion statements go.
These physical
difficulties, then, both the expected (heat, inconveniences, etc.)
and the unexpected (such as a bizarre rash of large and painful
blisters I developed), I was mentally prepared for.
I was not, however,
prepared to face the raw ache for significance that began to swell
after our first day. Once I saw that my work was not a scripted one,
I began searching for what it was that I was meant to do in this
village.
Some in our group were
gifted at sharing the Word with those we met. Knowing this was not my
strength, I began to gravitate towards the children, who were a
decidedly more captive audience than my usual students on any given
day. I guess those who see me on a daily basis have grown accustomed
enough to the song-and-dance routines that it's not an exciting
novelty anymore. That said, I do believe that the combination of
music and motion is an effective, and lasting, learning tool. So it
was with intentionality that I went through a small set of songs,
with any surrounding youngsters, on a daily basis, with the same
motions associated with words for each language we were singing at
the time [i.e. hands over heart = love, hands forming a large circle
= the world, etc]. Sure enough, by the end of the week I was getting
used to overhearing snippets of "God is so good," ("lesa
wawama") and "there's no one like Jesus" ("takwaba
uwaba nga Jesu") while walking.
I began to settle into my
role, assuming that anytime grown-ups were gathered but children
hanging from trees nearby, I'd make my way over to the children.
Which brings me back to that mango tree meeting mentioned at the
beginning.
Before starting this
farewell meeting, our Pastor had asked if I could lead them in a few
songs, as I had done when we first arrived. That time I had combined
a performance by the Easter choir (as most in the choir had come on
this trip) with a few other songs most of us knew. This time, I
mentioned several of the songs I had been doing with the children,
asking him if he thought it would be ok to do children's songs and
motions with the adults. I began to explain to him that I thought it
might help grownups, in the same way that it helps children, to
associate motions with the words of the songs. But he nodded a
cheerful assent before I had finished my overly anxious request.
The first part of the
ceremony, then, went as expected, with the thank yous and the gifts
already mentioned [we have been periodically "shush"ing the
3 birds in a box behind us as we travel back.
For
some reason they
are dissatisfied with their luxurious instant noodle box turned
passenger car. Instead of standing to give
a message, Pastor then turned to me and motioned that I should begin.
Our group stood behind me, copying my motions, while I faced the
people of the village for a short set of easily singable and
danceable choruses. I nodded my thanks when we finished and returned
to my seat.
At this point a few people
stood up and had a short discussion. The translator came back to us
and relayed the message that the women would like to give a
performance for us in return. Soon no one was sitting anymore. A
couple drums had appeared, a voice began to sing, others joined in,
and the dancing began. It was a seamless flow of beauty, one song
rolling into another as different voices started new
call-and-response tunes. Different people also began the accompanying
dances, young and old alike, with no apparent difference in agility
or energy.
My smile grew, my feet
started to move, and soon I was focused intently on my efforts to
copy their intricate motions. A few of the dancers noticed me and,
before long, I had been motioned into the circle with another lady. I
copied the motions as best I could, moving my feet to the beat, then
turning a circle before letting myself fall back into the arms of one
on the outside of the circle, who would catch me under the arms while
I jumped, as if she was throwing me into the air. I did not feel
particularly graceful, in the least; but it was, in a word,
exhilarating to be a part of the beauty. I was honored.
The dancing continued, for
quite some time, until it was time for us to leave. Once back with
just out party, we had a time of sharing one highlight each of us had
experienced. Three words came immediately to my mind: "song and
dance." At times I worry that I am not spiritual enough to
prioritize traditional preaching. But when it comes down to it, I
cannot help but circle back to this same center point. We have had a
theme song for the trip, singing it together in our morning and
evening devotions. In it, we sing the words, "my heart and my
hands, I'm making them Yours." It makes me smile. Yes, Lord--I
may not have the words to say. But I have a heart for the beauty of
this world: its music and its motion. And I have the hands to join in
with it.
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