Red-faced in Kenya
Tension is Inevitable; A Bad Response Isn'tby Jeremy Cook
Some lessons almost have to be beaten into you. Kenya has taught me a lot about myself in that regard. Although as a campus minister in the U.S., I trained dozens of students in cross-cultural skills, I have displayed a surprising degree of cultural inflexibility since moving here to serve with InterVarsity Link.
Despite my fluency with cultural theories and models, daily cross-cultural living has been a struggle indeed. Approaching cultural difference with openness (“okay, what can I learn here?”), acceptance (“whatever happens, happens”), trust (“Kenyans are friendly and hospitable on average”), and adaptability (“this experience will be good for me, so go with it”) has been easy at times and the farthest thing from my mind at other times. Instead, suspicion (“okay, this guy looks like he might rob me”), fear (“I just know I’m gonna get carjacked in ‘Nairobbery’”), prejudice (“this guy must not be educated”), and superiority (“no wonder your country has so many problems!”), have come all too easily for me.
Some confusion is inevitable. That's the nature of cross-cultural living. But in Kenya, I have been frustrated like never before (“I did not realize these colorful words were such a part of my vocabulary”). Bewilderment has reigned at times (“why in the world would anyone do it that way?”). I have experienced tension so strong that it has affected me physically (e.g. fearing the police for the first time in my life.)
I have often wanted to crawl under rocks (“I just want to be around people with whom I don’t have to explain myself”). Misunderstanding has usually been the key reason for the last cross-cultural inevitable (“wow, I thought I learned lessons about assuming things in my own cultural setting.”) And finally, aggression has been the scariest and most surprising of all the inevitable (“from where did all this anger come?”).
Those are some of the inevitable. I wish I could say that my choices have usually been appropriate. Sometimes I have chosen to observe (“let me watch more closely and learn something”), listen (“let me make sure I hear him completely”), inquire (“can you tell me more about that?”), and initiate (“I should try and learn since I am on their turf.”).
But at too many other times I have chosen to criticize (“that is so stupid!”), rationalize (“I’m just venting, a much needed exercise”), and withdraw (“leave me alone with my email, Western mystery novels, and American modern rock, and I’ll be just fine”), instead of trusting God and loving people as his created ones.
I’m sure that one day I will sincerely weep at what could have been. Fortunately, by God’s grace I have not ruined relationships here. However, with frequent feelings of alienation and isolation, broken relationships are not too improbable.
My first major cross-cultural transition was nothing like this one. Moving with my wife into inner-city Washington, DC seemed hard at the time. In retrospect it seems so simple. One reason was that we were staying in a city I had lived in for eight years. DC was my city. I knew it like the back of my hand. In a city whose streets frustrated and confused so many newcomers, its grid was imprinted on my mind. I knew which routes to take if traffic was backed up on a certain street at a certain time. We had our favorite restaurants, concert venues, and coffee shops. We knew the websites to buy advanced tickets at our favorite movie theaters. Public transportation was a breeze. We had lots of friends and a wonderful church. And we had romantic places that held so many memories for us.
Although we differed in culture from our neighbors (that section of DC is 99% African-American, and we are white), we were all still Americans. At the very least I could discuss with the men our beloved Washington Redskins. That's a far cry from the “football” one finds in Kenya. Soul food? Heap on more, sister! Frustration with litter and inefficient bureaucracy? At least as citizens we had the power to do something about it.
Part of our trouble in Kenya has been our emotionally-charged adoption process. Feeling God’s call to adopt orphans wherever we landed in Africa, we eventually fell in love with Kayla Asali and Ketran Mjumbe, twin sister and brother who were abandoned in the hospital the day after they were born. Perhaps if it was just the two of us, I would not become so frustrated by the inefficiency and incompetence that I feel I so easily find here. But when it comes to our children (yes, they are that despite the lack of a piece of paper) and an expensive process, I really struggle with my attitudes.
At times I have wondered aloud to God, “What are you doing?” I have anguished over questions:
What is just cultural difference and what is truly wrong or silly? What is redeemable in this culture and what is sinful? What is redeemable in my culture and what is sinful? Can I forget about culture and just live, for crying out loud?
Someday, I am sure, I will see the benefit of my experiences here, however frustrating and negative they seem to me today. I certainly have a much deeper admiration now for American missionaries sent to foreign soil. How easy it was for me in the past to discuss Jesus' instruction to “pick up your cross” with American students at beautiful retreat centers! But because of God’s grace he does not condemn me for that. He gently reminds me that he did not call me to an easy life. Rather Jesus bids me, in Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s words, “come and die.”
But is that even possible, amidst the conveniences and trappings of modern American life? God will certainly teach me how to lay down my life for his sake, in a country as rich as my own. But for now, he is changing me, here in a country still reeling from colonialism and corruption. He is refining me in ways I can only see glimpses of now.
Whatever the cross-cultural inevitable, before I choose to respond poorly or properly, I must choose to deepen my relationship with Jesus. How easy it is here to become alienated and isolated from the One who most understands me - the One to whom I certainly do not have to explain myself. In my frustration and anger I so easily resort to sinful attitudes and patterns and do not easily start the walk home from the pig pen. Why do I blame the one who is not just waiting with open arms, but is running towards me?
I desperately want to be content in any situation. I want to see joy in suffering; that’s part of the call of a disciple. I may not suffer like some people, but to a certain extent all suffering is relative. At the very least, God is giving me a deeper sense of what it means to adjust cross-culturally for the sake of the Kingdom.
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on the urbana.org web site are Copyright InterVarsity Christian Fellowship / USA. All rights reserved.
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