Christmas in Africa. This year was my 6th Christmas in Africa and I can’t say that it ever gets any easier. I’m a last born. I used to love holidays. But there is something about Christmas in Africa that taints it, I guess. For one, I miss home. Family. My mom’s incredible cooking and decorations. The stores being decorated with Christmas music piping through. Evaporated milk. Marshmallow Cream. Chocolate Chips. And all those other things that I take for granted in America when it comes time to make Christmas sweets.
I made sugar cookies this year. About 75 dozen of them since it was the only Christmas recipe that I had that I can get the ingredients for. They were more like short-break sugar cookies and we all gained a collective 47 pounds as a result.
Tuesday, December 26 ‘06
We went to a missionary Christmas celebration today. It couldn’t be on the 24th because the German missionaries celebrate their Christmas on the 24th - something to do with the Jewish measurement of time and Sabbath and holidays. Which I think is totally weird. Not the Jewish holiday scheduling thing but the fact that Germans would follow a Jewish custom at all.
The missionary Christmas celebration was held at a German home and was pretty evenly divided between German (or German-speaking Swiss) and Americans. There were maybe 14 Americans (we count for 6 of them) and 21 German or German-speaking Swiss. No other nationalities were represented this year. In the past, we’ve had Dutch, British, South African, New Zealanders, Swedish and even Canadian representation but right now, in Kitale at least, the missionary community is divided up between German, German-speaking Swiss and American . . .with the Americans coming in last.
When I walked home with Katia after the party, I asked her if she had a nice time. There were around 6 other kids her age to play with.
“They all spoke a different language,” she said.
She’s was the only American in that age-range so that is that. Several of them go to school together and there everyone is required to speak English but when it comes to casual play - English is out.
I have no idea, though, why I’m rambling on about something like that. Maybe just because, like I said, holidays don’t seem like the holidays I remember growing up.
I took cornbread to the missionary buffet. No one ate it - but an American, or two. I don’t think they knew what it was because the host went and got a serving spatula for it when she saw it - kind of like for a dish that is a casserole.
It was typical German food at the buffet. Liver & apples. Beef or chicken stew with corn-salads and desserts that don’t contain sugar. Breads. Loads of breads. Homemade, of course.
But, really, this has very little to do with Christmas this year in Africa.
We played White Elephant, though. We play it every year. 23 expat adults got in a circle and played a gift exchange game in Africa. Every year a few of us will stick in something from our home country. One year I put in a DVD and a CD. This year I brought junk. The valuable stuff was a few nice souvenirs from Kenya. But since most of the 23 of us have lived here longer than we ever thought we would, we didn’t need to jump at any souvenirs. The things that got swiped were the:
sausage from Germany
snake-finding light kit from America
I ended up with the Nutella.
One of the missionary couples (Americans) brought a box full of “stuff.” Their stuff. When asked why they brought it, they said they were “downsizing.” They’ve been here almost 10 years and they were just getting rid of “stuff.” Like pots. Wall hangings. Panty hose. Stuff.
Why not give it to Africans who are poor instead of missionaries who are able to buy what they need when they need it?
Your guess is as good as mine. It’s just part of the quirkiness that comes with missions.
One time, when we first got here, a missionary left the country to go back to the States. And instead of giving away partially-used food items to people who might need them like Taco Bell seasoning packets or Ranch dressing containers - she sold them.
To the other missionaries. Opened-food. Sold.
I never would have guessed half (no, most) of the things I’ve learned about people . . . humanity - myself included, on the mission field. We are a strangle lot. We, the people.
The stuff I learned used to make me angry. Now, it just makes me grateful. Grateful that, in spite of us - God still loves us and uses us and blesses us and cares for us and listens to us, as people.
He has a far larger heart than anyone even realizes.
