African Sundays

It’s Sunday afternoon, and the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon.  This is my favorite time of day in Sudan, my favorite day of the week. I’m happy to have a chance to share a slice of it with you. This is our third Sunday here and I think we’re starting to get into the rhythm and flavor of life here. Our work has proved to be rigorous, working 6 days a week, at times until late afternoon Saturday, with meetings and planning for the next week. The trade-off, however, has been really instructive for us. People here take the Sabbath day as seriously as they take their work. The generator goes off, the office door stays locked and folks don’t talk about work.  Some folks listen to sermons on i-pods, read books, nap in the shade, wash clothes, sweep out rooms, walk to the market for tea or lunch. It’s been something of an adjustment, and one that I feel is really good for us to learn to shut off, quiet down, stop running, and just be still. Nobody does this better then the Kenyan staff.

       Last week, I had the good fortune to stumble into the Mess, the place where we eat, at 8 in the morning to find Mama Betty, a Kenyan nurse, and James, another Kenyan, our base manager, frying triangles of sweet dough and making Kenyan tea.  What a delicious surprise. These magical squares are called Mandazi, and taste remarkably like cake doughnuts.  Scott and I quickly volunteered to be helpful in any way we could so that we could capture some crumbs falling from their tables, but there was no need, the treats were for all that found their way into the kitchen

 

. The day progressed with hours of sitting under a tree, talking about whatever conversation wandered our way, scrubbing our feet, painting our nails. My dear friend Ali, who has worked in Sudan, gave me sound advice before I left; watch the way the Kenyans take care of themselves and do what they do. They know how to survive in the field for a very long time. Now I’ve seen firsthand and agree with her whole heartedly.

  It’s a funny thing about Sundays, how challenging it can be to really rest. I remember in Portland, even though we turned off our phones and tried not to check our e-mail, meandered home on our bikes from church, laying under big trees and stopping on bridges, or reading the afternoon away by the fire, I often battled this feeling that there was something I was supposed to be doing. I’m letting that something catch up to me here, and I’m realizing that even resting takes practice, and as easy as it sounds, it’s a skill, like learning to play an instrument. An author I really appreciate, Richard Rohr, in his book “Everything Belongs” ( a book I  recommend to all the world), says that the struggle in the West with Christianity is that we want to learn all about it, but not always to practice it. I think the same could be said for stillness, for rest, for peace when we allow ourselves a nap, a good book, a long snuggle, a lazy afternoon sitting with people we enjoy, a picnic, sleep in. We may talk about contemplation and simplicity, read books about it, but ultimately, it is found in the practice, to allow ourselves to be emptied, in order to allow ourselves to be refilled.

  I see it, too in the Sudanese. I see them playing soccer in the villages, children chasing tires, men walking slowly enjoying each other company, woman sitting together, taking tea. After so many years of war, they seem happy just to be here, just to be taking in another day. To the angst that seems to plague so many of us, the question of “what am I supposed to do with my life,” their answer seems very simple. “You are supposed to live it, slowly, every day, together.” And that seems to be enough. For me, it takes practice to just live this day, without questioning yesterday, planning for tomorrow. I’m thankful that I have some time to spend here, to practice, to learn.

  At the close of this day, the sun sinks closer to the Nile, the mosquitoes begin to bite, the children throw rocks at trees, hoping the nuts will fall for a late evening snack, the women carry impossible bundles of grass on their heads, and I think cherish a day well spent, practicing. Across the world, as the sun rises on your Sunday, we send you our love, and wish for you an African Sunday