Downton Abbeying

There were so many things I did not expect from my travels to Cameroon. Perhaps top of the list was getting hooked on Downton Abbey and blitzing through the first season while there. Now before you get all judge-y on that point, let me explain.

Cameroon, being so close to the equator, gets dark early. Every night. Like 6:30 p.m.-early every night. And with the dark comes more risks. The missionaries generally limit traveling after dark as much as possible because the traffic "laws" in Cameroon are more "guidelines" (night time or not)... or at least, in part, a way for the police forces to occasionally make some happy-hour funds for themselves. So, headlights aren't always a thing, police stops aren't always what they appear, "lanes" are open for interpretation, and, well, you get the idea.  So Karen and I stayed home in the evenings after my class ended every night. And once Milton locked the gate and let the dogs out, there was very little going outside anyway unless you wanted muddy paw prints all over you.

Every day of teaching was a long one for both of us women. The two-hour journey over the road to Konye each way took a physical toll on both of us (and a mental one for Karen... that is a LOT of concentrating in order to not get stuck or damage the truck. The first day of class we hit a buried rock hard enough for the seatbelt to bruise my shoulder - a half-dollar-sized beauty that shifted through the entire spectrum of the rainbow over the following week. It was impressive). After the bumpy journey, I taught for two hours, we drove back another two hours, rested for a short bit (if we had time), I prepped for my second class, taught for ANOTHER two hours and then finally returned back home for the night. All that made for a long 11 hours day after day.

There was also the uncertainty of what we would be eating for both lunch and dinner (provided by the pastors' wives), ranging from spicy fish soup (repeatedly) or only packaged cookies ("like America"). Choosing contentment with every meal (even when I got to the gagging on fishbones stage of the week - thank heavens they didn't sit with us while we ate, I would have felt TERRIBLE) - the gift of food and sharing what little they had with us reflected the generosity of the early Christian church and the eternal love of our Savior. And when Karen would cook us a supplemental meal, even if it was eaten at a strange time of the day, it, too, was received with joy. Believe me. JOY.

But by the end of the day, Karen and I were both beat tired. The difference between us, though, was that she was at home and I was a visitor. I remember that distinction SO clearly from when I lived in Japan. Living somewhere and traveling somewhere are two different beasts - which come with different types of challenges and sources of exhaustion. Throughout each day, my eyes and ears took in Africa for the first time, while hers had absorbed these sights and sounds for two decades. The "way things were" had two completely different takes between us; hers based on half a lifetime of experience, while mine brought an outsider's vantage point, both culturally and generationally. Karen was tasked with guiding a complete novice through this land and I was charged with bringing my skills and gifts to use for God's glory and complete my job to the best of my ability, despite having no real grasp on the culture from the get-go. As a former host in a foreign country, I KNOW how wearing that can be.

Don't get me wrong. Visitors in Japan were amazing. I loved hosting and guiding our family, friends, and exchange groups through our Japanese life and sharing with them bits of the culture in which we were immersed. But it was a LOT of work. Emotionally, physically, mentally... and I really empathized with Karen on that point (and truth be told, felt a bit guilty that I increased her work load). Added on to that weight for Karen, though, was the fact that she and I were virtually strangers. Sisters in Christ? Yes. Mothers of all boys, world travelers, and mission-minded? Yes, yes, and yes. But we discovered that my emotional disposition was as foreign to her as Africa was to me. And THAT is a demanding load for anyone to take on, particularly with the rest of the challenge in mind.

By the end of trip I think she and I had figured each other out as well as we could have in three weeks together. And our group as a whole learned some valuable lessons as far as what volunteers need on the short-term mission field and what strategies might help. Like I had mentioned early on, I was the odd one out as far as experience in Africa went and it was, at times, isolating to feel alone in my discoveries and growth. Adding to that the separation of Pastor and Mick from Karen and me, our individual support systems changed dramatically and I lost my volunteer counterpart's immediate support. I also noted that my perspective was so drastically different than my Africa-veteran teammate, that my observations and thought processes were interpreted differently by Karen than I actually intended at times. I found myself internalizing more than I perhaps would have if Mick and I had been onsite together, which lead to a build up of emotions. The release of those emotions caught Karen off-guard, and in the end, we had to learn how to work together for the second half of the trip.

While in the midst of all of that hiding behind my game-time mask, survival was my main goal- regaining my emotional footing and rebuilding credibility with my entire team. From a retrospective angle, however, I can see how directly Satan used my weaknesses and FEARS against me to try to prevent me from doing my job. Pre-departure I had three main worries: 1) That I was leaving my normal emotional support system (Dan and the boys, my mom, close friends, etc.) and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to cut it; 2) That I wouldn't get along with Karen; and 3) That I wasn't going to be able to perform my jobs to the level that was expected by everyone involved. I did what I could to prepare for the "worst case scenarios" (and really, it never got to "worst case," even remotely), but when trials came, boy did Satan amplify my insecurities. Holy buckets, you guys. My confidence was severely undermined by several factors and, to be completely honest, I would have gotten on a plane halfway through the trip and never returned to Africa again, given the opportunity. At the lowest point, I felt like God was using this trip to take my longtime desire to travel and/or live in Africa with my family away from me. Which nearly broke my heart.

I felt so overwhelmed by challenges. My lesson plans had mainly gotten chucked out the window (so all my pre-trip prep felt like it had been done vain), I felt WAY over my head with the level of English the students wanted to learn, which in turn triggered fairly high levels of anxiety before every single class (which I tried not to verbalize). I didn't feel like I was learning as much as I wanted to about the Cameroonian culture, and cultural norms hindered me from using some of the channels I DID have available (being a woman sucks sometimes... seriously). And I had gotten past the "honeymoon phase" of the trip and homesickness sunk in pretty hard - all at the same time. My fear of failing (Kingdom Workers, my team, my donors, my students, the Lutheran Church of Cameroon, myself) was always front of mind and when Karen didn't know quite what to do with me when my emotions boiled up on my bad day, I felt like all my fears had been met. And I couldn't leave. Which is my go-to desire when everything blows up in my face. "Run away!! Run away!!!"

I feel like I should clarify, because this probably all sounds very dramatic. And this is part of my post-trip processing needs. So please don't walk away with the idea that I hated my trip, Karen and I didn't get along, and I never intend to go back to Africa again. Because all of those statements are false. But I do feel like honesty (if for no one else, myself) is needed. It has been hard for me upon returning to know what to say when people ask, "How was it!?" as I mentioned in my last entry. But I have found myself avoiding the topic and sort of keeping to myself, because I don't know exactly how to verbalize my quandaries - and most of all, I don't want them to be misunderstood and cause harm to Kingdom Workers or the mission in Cameroon. But I AM trying to give myself the grace to be ok with not needing an "Everything is Awesome!" (ala The Lego Movie) reaction in regards to my trip, even though some parts really, REALLY were incredibly awesome - including the copious amounts of laughter that Karen and I shared throughout the entire trip.

So in the end, Downton Abbey helped dig me out of my hole a little bit. That sounds totally ridiculous, I know. But after our 11-hour completely draining days, Karen and I found some respite and created a point of Western-world commonality to escape to after a full day of service for the church. Occasionally with hot-off-the-stove popcorn with real melted butter. And frosty mugs of victory beverages. And shorts (I can't even tell you... obligated skirts everyday in the unrelenting heat got old... gym shorts at the end of the day were like a glimpse of heaven).

Downton Abbey in Cameroon... who would have guessed?