Finding home.
I’ve seen and done this all before.
I take a challenge and see where it leads me.
This post is mainly inspired by
Dorynda Venable, a lovely lady who I’ve known since I was a wee tween… I say wee but let’s be honest. I was at fatty. Anyway that’s beside the point. As well as inspirational because of Ashley Wells most recent Midwest post. In a way, her and I have flip-flopped in life. I did the whole “Grapes of Wrath” move and she did opposite.
The point is I’m always at this point in defining home.
The first move that I ever remember making was from Tulsa, OK to Costa Mesa, California. Let’s not even talk about all the differences that didn’t occur to me until about a year later.
But minus the familiarity—there was different lingo and terminology. I’ve now adapted to saying “Like” after, well let’s go with every single syllable. But surprisingly rarely ever use the word “like” when typing. Another thing that Californian’s do is say “Soda.” Us Midwesterners use the word “Pop”
Which together makes Sodapop but there often times controversy. With that being said, I find myself having to adapt over little things. The problem arises when I become culturally confused.
I say “Pop” in California and “Soda” in Oklahoma. And find judgment upon me wherever I go. Naturally, it is all petty but it still strikes a cord.
The Challenge.
I mentioned challenge earlier; since I can remember I have this strange fascination with going to new place, outside of my comfort level, typically where I don’t really know anyone and make a home with the new.
Moving to California, I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t even like Vanguard University when I visited. I just knew God clearly told me to go. Challenge accepted.
I had no car. No familiarity. I got pot-lucked in a shoebox dorm with 2 other best friends and prayed for the best. I was blessed with lifelong friendships.
Fast-forward:
Five years after Vanguard. One and a half years after my first African “challenge.” I come back for 3 months, alone, with the plan of having a lack of plan. Always through these “challenges” I find God always has an ulterior motive that I look back and think “ahhhh that’s why I’m really here.”
I’m still waiting for the AHA moment.
A constant state of confusion
In my last 2 months I have found myself in South Africa, Mozambique and Zimbabwe.
South African’s or Afrikaans people use phrases like
“Just now” – which does not really mean just now to an American.
“Nie”—no—a phrase that I hear quite often from an almost 3 year old girl.
“Lekker” – nice, good great, tasty, et cetera.
“hey”- Using “hey” after every phrase or question.
My first few weeks, I find myself getting acclimated to the Afrikaans way. Then I go to Mozambique and we switch to Portuguese and random shona, etc…
“Nao” – No
“Obrigada”- Thank you
“muito bom”
“Ny a la”- the spelling is off and I believe it’s shona. “I don’t want to”
There was this little boy and I was attempting to tell him “No” and I yelled “Nie” instead of “Nao.” That was the first instance of cultural confusion.
Crossing the border from Mozambique to Zimbabwe. I kept saying “Obrigada.” Zimbabwe uses the US dollar and a good number speak English, NOT Portuguese.
Then staying in Zimbabwe, I stayed with this awesome family, Paul and Melinda Grobler who lived in South Africa for a while. With that being said, in Zimbabwe there was a switch back to Afrikaans lingo.
By this point in time, I was beside myself.
"That's quite Lekker, hey?" -- first instinct
spoken- "I like that a lot."
When will this madness end?
Aside from mis-responding and now responding to things in my head and then re-translating them into my typical American lingo, I like where I am.
And love the people I've encountered.
Especially this Laubscher family that keeps finding me on their doorstep for extended periods of time.
