*Thank you all for your generosity. We have sufficient clothes for the children of Congo for now!
When missionaries say that one of the hardest thing about being in a different culture is getting used to the pace of life, I’ll have to say it’s true.
For a while, the slow pace is endearing. A longer while later, it warms up to you. Then, when life picks up and things need to get done, it strangles every ounce of patience in you and wrings you dry, unless you learn to roll with it a little, and laugh a lot.
Fixing the water heater took the plumber ten days instead of an afternoon; requesting for the refill of water from the compound staff is taking four days instead of an hour; an electrical connection that needed to be fixed at 9am was attended to two hours later; a work visa that was promised to be lodged in two days has taken (is still taking) more than a week.
But, if one learns to use the time in between creatively, fruitfully, engaged in meaningful conversation, intense prayer to God or simply, with intentional laughter, things usually turn out a lot better than if we jumped around pulling our hair out and getting mad.
A few days ago, we learnt, not only to be patient, but a deeper lesson as well.
A new missionary friend we had made in Uganda, Y, was returning home for 3 weeks for a rest. To our surprise, she, understanding the challenges of getting around dusty and bumpy Africa without a vehicle, offered us her dusty and trusty land-rover generously. We had only had tea on two occasions with her, but her trust in us was complete. “You can take my key from my personal assistant anytime. Petrol is on me. ”
Three days after Y left, after we both had suffered our own bouts of diarrhea, we decided to take up her offer to buy some necessities from a store down the road. Cliff borrowed the key from her personal assistant, but realized we didn’t know where the car insurance card was placed in the car. A car insurance card must be shown on demand when driving in Uganda.
Getting down from the vehicle into the building, he went to ask Y’s assistant where it was. He disappeared for a long time, and with every minute, my trust in us actually using the car diminished. No insurance card, no driving.
Y’s personal assistant had no idea where the card was, but she called Y’s driver to come meet us instead.
But that wasn’t what held Cliff up. Cliff had asked her, guilelessly, “When Y said petrol is on her, what does she mean?”
Y’s personal assistant replied, equally guilelessly, “It means you drive to the gas station, and drive out. And you don’t need to pay!”
After a good ten to fifteen minutes of asking the question in fifty-three different permutations, Cliff walked out to meet me, waiting outside. “I give up,” he said. “I kept asking her, in different ways, but she couldn’t tell me. In any case, she’s called Y’s driver. He’s coming to show me where the car insurance card is, and I’ll ask him instead.”
Minutes passed, and I asked Cliff if he wanted me to go into the building and ask Y’s assistant about how to pay (or not pay) for the petrol again.
“No, I suggest not,” he replied.
Another fifteen minutes later, Y’s driver showed up in a little red car, showed us where it was and Cliff took the opportunity to ask him what “petrol is on me” meant.
“Oh! It means you use Y’s petrol card. Over here,” he passed Cliff the card. “And here’s her PIN number for the card. You drive to the petrol station, pass the attendant this card and key in this PIN, and it’s done. Don’t pay a cent.”
Suddenly, the clouds parted and everyone gained clarity, and a good hearty laugh as well.
“Well, Y’s assistant was right,” I said. “You do drive in and out ‘without paying’. She just left out the bit about using a card with a PIN, that’s all!”
We both laughed.
As we drove out the compound to buy some much-needed necessities and thanked God for this generous luxury and offer from a missionary-stranger-turned-friend, I shared with Cliff the revelation I received from his wisdom.
“I guess it’s not just about asking the right questions, is it? It’s also about asking the right person!” I chirped.
We could have asked Y’s personal assistant the same question a million more times, and she probably would not have answered us, simply because she doesn’t drive. But as soon as we asked the driver, the answer was clear. Yet, it was the personal assistant’s resourcefulness that directed us to the driver, who in turn gave us what we needed.
In life, don’t we very often ask the “right questions” but to the wrong people?
Goodness knows how many people I had asked about what to do with my future just after I married Cliff. From my seniors, to colleagues, to supervisors, to friends… I had asked them all about my career options. The more I asked, the more possibilities I received, and the confused I became. Applying for post-graduate training, climbing up the corporate ladder, choosing one specialty over the other… all seemed like great choices.
But that was neither the right question, nor was I asking the right people.
More importantly, I needed to ask Cliff. And most importantly, God.
And the question to ask, wasn’t what to do with my career, because God’s plans had nothing to do with it. In fact, it had everything to do with putting it away.
It was only after Cliff had asked the right questions to the right people, that we were able to set off in the vehicle, on a journey, finally, to reach the spot at Lake Victoria where we had first fallen in love with this country. If not, we would have been stuck where we had been stuck for the past 12 days, on the gated compound.
Are you, too, feeling stuck where you are?
You could be asking the right questions, but to the wrong people, or vice versa.
Finding the right question to ask the right Person to ask may take time. Nonetheless, as you wait through this process, don’t tear your hair out.
Roll with it a little, laugh a lot, and when the time comes, you will find yourself laughing out loud when the answer presents itself in most unexpected ways, such as in a card with a PIN number.