Grateful

Though we’ve been here a short time it is interesting how quickly one learns to adapt to circumstances. What I have constantly been amazed and ashamed of is how ungrateful I really am- a state of mind that seems to have found a permanent place in most of the western world.

As I type this the maid is sweeping the floor with a handmade broom made from grass. I compare this to the literal aisles of cleaning devices we have in the States- each one promising something more than then next to the point that we find it necessary to have multiples to cover any kind of cleaning emergency.

I have just eaten a piece of fruit that would have been severely discounted or possibly thrown away at our local grocery store and yet I was very grateful for it. I do not have the luxury of pouring over the supermarket fruit aisle and rejecting food at whim. In this culture you learn to make due with what you have and not really consider that you are somehow unfortunate. To have bread or maize to eat is no small thing.

Our group shot a warthog by request of the neighboring landowner so that his workers would have meat once again to eat. Upon the presentation of this gift, the excitement over their good fortune was abundantly clear. We put our noses up at a tough, fatty or otherwise “defective” meat feeling that we deserve far better. What makes us deserving? Our very existence? Who are we to be ungrateful to God who has provided us with truly more than we could imagine?

The bread we are eating was made by one of the locals in his own version of an oven. Taking the very basics of ingredients, they scoop out a trough in the sand and then start a fire in it (using matches to ignite it if they are lucky, sticks if they are not). They place a piece of wood over this and when the sand has heated enough, they put out the fire and bake the bread on the board, heated by the surrounding sand. They know nothing of massive, mechanical mixers for stirring and conveyer belts that process and neatly package the bread to go to various supermarkets across the country.  

The bathtub in our room must be wiped down after use to get rid of the sediment and (light) debris that is a part of the water here. We would be horrified to find this kind of setup at any hotel in the States and perhaps our government would be so kind as to shut this kind of place down as a “service” to the people to “protect” us. Yet we are so grateful to have a tub, let alone hot running water. When we acknowledge the kind of conditions here that are a part of everyday life we feel quite privileged.

Being in an area that does not have a Wal-Mart on every corner forces a person to learn to get creative. My nettipot container works nicely to rinse your hair. Dental floss, I found, makes a great string for balloons. Even at that, these are still modern implements and we can never begin to fully appreciate what it is like to live with so little.

I think in the western world we have conditioned ourselves to simply be unhappy with what we have (any advertisement will reinforce this theme). I wish I could state that I will continue this less-is-more feeling when we return home; but sadly I predict that though we will always have memories of this experience, the remembrance of lacking will soon be forgotten in the noise of home.