Day 13: He Who Visits the Tortoise, Eats Mushrooms

Hi. My name is Makenna, and I don’t know what I’m doing.

There are such a multitude of moments I could share with you right now. The moment Joe Kinsella, Assistant Director of Global Engagement at GU, and his beloved Zimbabwean host family embraced as they reunited this evening. If I were to describe an anecdote for complete happiness, that might be it. Perhaps the moment that a renowned sculptor gave me some career advice. Goals. Or why I ate my yogurt with the backside of a toothbrush (here in Rm 201, we are adaptable).

No, the moments I’d like to explore with you today, dear blog readers, are the times where I felt, and continue to feel, hopelessly inadequate. When my cultural cognizance is a crumb but I need the whole casserole for anything to make sense.

Example number one: language, language language. Our group keeps meeting incredible people who speak English in addition to their own local languages, which so far include Chitonga, Nyanja/Chewe, Bemba, Ndebele, Shona, some Zulu. You could throw in some French and Portuguese as well, depending on individual with whom you are speaking. Thanks to some powerful philosophy courses with Dr. Bradley throughout my undergrad, I’ve learned how language and etymology both play such a crucial role in shaping one’s world view. There is so much beauty wrapped up in all of it. And here I sit in our choral exchanges like a lump, struggling to learn the simplest of vernacular gospel songs and toting around a tiny notebook and pen just in case a kind soul agrees put in writing what we are supposed to be learning by rote. Just when I feel confident enough to say “Thank you” or “Good afternoon” out loud in public, our choir moves on to the next location, where a different local language prevails. Leaving such richness of language on the table is a major struggle. But I’m coming to appreciate the snippets of language I have the privilege to encounter.

Today I met a girl at the park named Violet. Her living situation is complicated. Our first exchange of words was also complicated, awkward, and super uncomfortable. But what started out as a confusing interaction suddenly turned to something different when I invited her to sit down with Lei and I. We began talking about the outdoor church service nearby that was conducted concurrently in English and Shona. I asked Violet about some Shona words, and she lit up with excitement as she began using her arms and speaking in Shonglish (a term I just came up with for English and Shona combined). She took her time describing how a simple message of thanks was always embedded in an overarching meaning of gratefulness to God in her experience. Her demeanor alone made her an excellent teacher of being.

Albert's artistry, with a guest appearance by Mak and Maria.

Example number two: Adapting to urban and rural southern African lifestyles like the flip of a switch. Holy buckets. My transition between the Chikuni Mission and Harare feels like balancing stones. For me, Chikuni was the land of off-the-grid, real time relationships. Sometimes I made those relationships with people; other times it was the spideys, geckos, roosters and sheep that eventually became amicable roommates and neighbors. I got to know people like Albert, a craftsman and clay artist who lived in Chikuni all his life. I got to know Yvonne and Mabel, who allowed me to help with the dishes in exchange for some really amazing stories and helpful support through my lingering questions. I can only hope to be as generous with my time and talents. Now in the urban setting of Harare, I’ve transitioned to the New York City commuter version of myself. It’s not an impossible shift, but it certainly is tumultuous. However, when we meet up with choir colleagues, eager to meet us all the way from the other side of the planet, I find a stasis that melts my anxiety. Even when I fall short, musicianship and sincere welcome keep giving me that extra boost of reassurance.

Ruth has the voice of a jazz priestess.

Example number three: My exchange abilities are not as strong as I wish them to be. I struggle to determine whether or not our choral exchanges are the level of “with-ness” for which my heart so desperately seeks. Another way to describe “with-ness” comes from the Chitonga proverb, he who visits the tortoise, eats mushrooms. It means that in order to truly learn, to truly understand people, you must spend time with them and meet them where they stand. Our time is limited, yes, but I’m coming to believe more and more in the power of with-ness through music. When we sing together with all these different choral groups, there are these special moments of kinship that transcend my words. When I look around the room, I see the beaming faces and smiles behind the eyes that feel it too. I can even name the people whose spirits shine through this art form in the most beautiful way I have ever witnessed. Sonia (Sacred Heart), Immanuel (Canisius), Faith (Adventist High School), and finally Ruth (Citungwiza) who I met today. Each of them have helped me to believe in the reason I am here.

So yes, feelings of inadequacy here in Zambia and Zimbabwe are amplified. And I think that is a good thing. By working through these feelings, I’m learning that there is no such thing as coming up short. That there are bigger human truths that lie beyond my feelings of inadequacy if I am open to finding them. And singing is a form of kinship I am lucky enough to experience with so many amazing human beings. Every adumbration of our song is a form of with-ness, and I would not trade any of it for the world.

Makenna Sellers

Class of 2017