Be
prepared. This is definitely not a fluffy, everything’s-good-in-my-world blog.
There are
a lot of things that are just difficult about living in a different place and
different culture than the one you grew up in or are used to.
Sometimes
I just need to be real about some things that I deal with living here in Kenya.
So here’s a little bit of insight into what goes on in my head pretty much
every day and some of the struggles, burdens, and heartache I experience on a
daily basis living here, that are a lot of times, directly related to my skin color…
Sometimes
I hate the color of my skin. Sometimes I hate being white and all that is
associated with that living here.
I get so
frustrated when I am judged in the opposite way almost, because of my skin
color. It’s like reverse discrimination or something.
It breaks
my heart in more than one way when kids follow me. It breaks my heart that they
are hungry. But it also breaks my heart that they follow me because I am white and that signals a thought that I must have a
lot and will then surely give them something-food, shillings, my watch…
Sometimes
my stomach churns when I hear the word, Mazungu, even though I hear it often.
Sometimes
I wish we were all color blind. Sometimes I don’t like the ‘responsibility’
that comes with my skin color.
Sometimes I hate all the “good” things that accompany my skin
color. Being ushered to the front row at church, being served first at different
gatherings, being given nicer accommodations or faster service-all the while
feeling trapped, unable to refuse this treatment because of cultural
hospitality or the risk of offending people…
Sometimes I feel used here. Sometimes people come (even friends
here) and ask for things. Sometimes I get so frustrated when people strike up a
conversation with me, with the goal of getting me to do something for them or
buy something for them.
And as a
relational person, sometimes it’s hard to feel like people don’t see me or want
me for me, they want what I have…
Sometimes, I just can’t handle all these things and wish I
could fade more into the background here, blend in better. Sometimes I wish I
could sit on my front lawn without being approached to purchase tortillas or
jewelry…
Sometimes, I think things can’t change, and I want to stop
fighting to change them. Sometimes, I just want to be free to hand out things
to everyone who asks, to everyone I see in need.
Sometimes, I hate the system, hate that, at times, I
contribute to it, and hate that I even think this way. Because ultimately, it’s
people we are talking about here.
And sometimes, I make it altogether too complicated when Jesus
said it’s pretty simple. He lived it and outlined it pretty well in His word. Love one
another. Serve one another. Honor one another. Love in deed and truth and keep
doing these things even when it’s hard, even when people use you, hurt you or fail to
see you for who you really are…
But all the time, I just need grace–grace in this process, grace
for the frustration and burdens, grace for the person involved, grace for me.
Grace for life and grace for the moment. Grace for each individual situation. Grace to continue to give of myself and to serve.
And this grace transcends skin color and my frustration and my
mistakes. It is this grace that we all, myself especially, don’t deserve.
God, thanks for your grace…
